Even among queer Arabs born and raised in Israel who are fluent in Hebrew, Arabic, and English, life is still far from secure, and those still living in the Palestinian Authority (or who come to Israel to seek asylum) face an even more uncertain future. According to data from HIAS, a Jewish organization that advocates for refugees, as of July 2026 there were around 300 Palestinian LGBTQ asylum seekers in Israel, and that figure includes only those known to organizations working in the field.

“They hung me up in an abandoned building and started beating me”

In November 2023, 23-year-old Yamen, who is gay, fled to Israel from Nablus, a major Palestinian city in the northern West Bank. He was forced to abandon his studies in physics at a local university, and after arriving in Israel he found a job cleaning offices. Yamen told HIAS representatives that he was learning Hebrew and looking for better work.

When Yamen’s family learned about his sexual orientation, his uncle — an intelligence officer with the Palestinian Authority — threatened to have him jailed. His relatives also accused him of collaborating with Israel, shouted at him, and beat him.

From the time Yamen was a teenager, his family had noticed that he was somewhat more effeminate than other young men, but they never discussed it. According to HIAS representatives, this is a common pattern in Palestinian families. Violence against LGBTQ people by their families begins only after a relative’s sexual orientation or gender identity becomes known to others.

Yamen says that from a young age, people around him treated him aggressively – mocking, harassing, and attacking him. Once, when he was 14, a police officer stopped him and a friend. According to Yamen, the reason was their “refined” appearance. The officer wanted to put them in his patrol car, but after a few phone calls he ultimately let the teenagers go. Yamen concluded that the officer had only wanted to frighten them.

However, an attempt to abduct Yamen succeeded and forced him to flee:

“One day I was just walking down the street. About 20 men suddenly attacked me – they simply forced me into a car and drove me away. They hung me up in some abandoned building and started beating me. They were relatively young. Then others joined them – men around my father’s age. I didn’t understand who they were or what they wanted from me. I had never experienced anything like this and had no idea how to react. It was as if they were saying, ‘We found a guy who looks gay, let’s take him and make fun of him for entertainment.’ I couldn’t believe this was happening to me…

They took everything I had, even my phone. Then things became even more serious when they found out my last name. They said, ‘Now we have a problem, and we don’t know what to do.’ They called my family. When my relatives came to find out what had happened and why I had been attacked like that, they were told, ‘Your son is this and that.’ I wasn’t allowed to explain anything, wasn’t given a chance to say a word. I had been a good child my whole life, and this was the first problem that required my family’s intervention.

But my relatives didn’t take my side. They were angry with me, and I didn’t understand what I had done. Instead of being angry with the people who had abducted their son, they simply abandoned me. It was the worst feeling I had ever experienced in my life…

From that moment on, my family turned my life into hell. The story spread until it reached the police, and an investigation was opened — but it was closed very quickly, because nobody cares about an abducted gay man. No one was prepared to protect me. And then I realized: if I want to stay alive, I have to run away from there.”

“I was afraid to go outside”

Twenty-five-year-old lesbian Manar fled to Israel from a village in the West Bank after her father discovered romantic messages with another woman on her phone.

Manar later told HIAS representatives her story:

“When my father found out that I was attracted to women, he started beating me regularly. Then my family decided to marry me off to some guy. He was a loser, a bad person, and used drugs. They simply put me in his house. There was no real wedding, no ceremony, nothing. I was basically kept there, unable to leave the house. He would constantly put some kind of powder in my water and make me drink it. Then I wouldn’t remember anything and couldn’t resist. One day I finally managed to escape, though I don’t even remember how. But I remember very well how I felt when my family abandoned me.”

Manar made a report to the Palestinian police about her father’s violence. He was initially detained, but once it became clear that the conflict stemmed from his daughter’s sexual orientation, he was released and sent home without further investigation.

When she was 18, Manar fled to another city, but relatives found her and tried to run her down with a car. Passersby rescued her. According to Manar, the police refused to intervene, so she fled to another city.

“One day, on my way home from work, I noticed someone photographing me on the street. I later recognized him as a close friend of my cousin. As it happened, there was a police officer nearby. I approached him and said that the guy over there was photographing me for my cousin, who had threatened to kill me. Now they would know where I was. The police did nothing. They didn’t even bother approaching him to ask why he was photographing me. They said it was none of their business, that it was purely a family matter.

“So I stopped working and stayed home because I was afraid to go outside, to go to work, or to be seen by anyone. I didn’t know what to do with myself or where to go. I became depressed and tried to kill myself... My partner found me and called an ambulance.”

After another attack, Manar decided to flee to Israel.

Relatives tied him to a post for two weeks

Twenty-seven-year-old Amjad, who was living in a third country by the time of his interview, described how his “once-loving” family discovered his correspondence with a man and tied him to a post outside the house for more than two weeks. His relatives threatened him with weapons. Only his sister secretly brought him food.

Another interviewee, 29-year-old Shadi from Jericho (who is also living in a third country), said his father had brutally beaten him and broken sticks over him since childhood because of his unusually high, soft voice. For a time, Shadi was made to take hormonal drugs. After a stranger told his father that Shadi was gay, his father told the family he intended to kill him. Shadi packed his things and fled to Israel.

Twenty-eight-year-old Amir, from a major city in the West Bank, said armed members of the Palestinian security forces attacked the home where he lived with his partner. Amir was detained for several days in connection with a case involving “indecent acts.”

“I was constantly pretending so I could be accepted”

“As a child, I often felt like an outsider. I remember sitting alone at lunch and wondering how people could make friends so easily. Mean Girls helped me,” says 28-year-old K. He dyed his hair platinum blond while keeping his perfectly trimmed beard black.

“That movie taught me to pretend to be someone else so society would accept me. It taught me to project confidence and put on a show for those around me. That’s how I started hanging out with the popular girls. If they were popular, then I was popular too, and straight guys would treat me normally because I was with the coolest girls in school,” K. recalls. “But that performance came at a price: I began to forget who I really was.”

K. grew up in northern Israel, in Nazareth, a city sacred to Christians. His father is an Arab Christian, his mother comes from a secular Lebanese family, and he has Jewish and Muslim relatives. K. says his parents celebrate Christian holidays, while everyone in the family tries to respect one another — they never discuss politics.

From childhood, K. understood that he did not fit any conventional mold, and his attraction to both men and women made things even more complicated. He never came out to his family:

“I used to think identity had to be fixed, that you had to choose one label and stick to it. If I’m gay, for example, then I’m only gay. But as I grew older, I realized I couldn’t fit myself into any one category. Over the years, I discovered new things about my sexuality. More importantly though, I realized I don’t owe anyone a simple definition of who I am. My identity is fluid and multilayered, and I don’t feel the need to explain who I am to anyone."

At the same time, his family was wary of the way he dressed, spoke, and moved. They drew their own conclusions.

“When I was younger, my parents would comment on it. It wasn’t easy for them either, because I had always been the ‘black sheep’ of the family. Whenever someone was getting married, they would think twice about whether to invite me, because they knew I might show up in some huge oversized suit and everyone would say, ‘What the hell are you wearing? That’s your grandfather’s suit!’"

After he earned a bachelor’s degree in fashion design and began working with major brands, K.'s parents realized that their son wasn’t just “playing games.”

“Yes, damn it, I’m Palestinian”

As a child, K. identified as Lebanese, but after struggling to find work following graduation from university — and amid the war that followed the Hamas terrorist attacks of October 7, 2023 — he came to fully embrace his Palestinian identity:

“While I was studying, I lived in a bubble – peace, love, and all that. But after graduation, I saw my Jewish classmates move up very quickly in the fashion world, while doors were closing for me. I asked myself, ‘Is this really happening because I’m Arab?’

Then I started noticing that there were almost no Arab names at Tel Aviv’s nightclubs and festivals – no DJs, designers, or artists. That’s when I realized it wasn’t just about me. There weren’t enough platforms where Palestinian creatives could be seen and supported.

So I said, ‘Yes, damn it, I’m Palestinian, and I’m going to fight for this community.’ That’s how I created a platform for Palestinian creatives. It’s not just about parties; it’s a space creating opportunities for people who didn’t have them, just as I once didn’t.”

In July 2026, K. moved to Berlin to begin pursuing a master’s degree while continuing to develop his project. When people ask where he is from, he insists on answering “Palestine” — “and my best friend, who is Jewish, says he’s from Israel,” K. adds with a smile. 

The status of Arabs in Israel

The most vulnerable group in the State of Israel

While K. was able to build a life for himself and move to Berlin to study, hundreds of other queer people from Israel’s Arab community face persecution because of their identity.

“This is the most vulnerable group in the State of Israel,” says lawyer Nimrod Gorenstein, chair of The Aguda, Israel’s LGBTQ rights association. “Unfortunately, some are still killed in horrific crimes that never even make the news. Others repeatedly seek shelter and a roof over their heads so they can live in safety and peace and integrate into society.”

Some are still killed in horrific crimes that never even make the news

Although Israel generally grants asylum to queer Palestinians living in the West Bank, this does not always guarantee their safety or protect them from their persecutors. In 2022, for example, 25-year-old gay refugee Ahmad Abu-Maruhi was brutally murdered near Hebron: he was decapitated and his body mutilated. Human rights activists said a video of his murder was sent to other LGBTQ Palestinians to intimidate them.

There is no official law against homosexuality in the Palestinian Authority, explains Hamoudi Omar, the director of Israel's Beit al-Mim nonprofit organization, which helps LGBTQ Arabs in Israel and the West Bank. Nevertheless, religious and social norms make life unbearable for people in the community.

Last year, around 400 people approached Beit al-Mim seeking asylum, and upwards of 600 sought psychological support — up from just 200 two years ago. Omar described one of the most memorable cases the organization has encountered this year: after learning of a young man’s sexual orientation, his father and brother cut off his genitals. The young man sent the organization’s staff photographs, but later stopped responding.

From Berlin, K. notes the even harsher reality faced by LGBTQ people living in the West Bank.

“Their reality is nothing like mine. When we meet and I hear their stories, I realize I wouldn’t have survived in their place. There, you can be killed simply for wearing the wrong thing. But even there, small communities hold secret gatherings where people can dress however they want.”

“Israeli Arabs look down on people from the West Bank”

As a rule, queer people forced to leave the West Bank do not receive official refugee status in Israel. Instead, they are issued temporary residence permits – valid for three, six, or 12 months – which must be renewed. According to Omar, before October 7, around 90% of applicants received permits; in the aftermath of the Hamas terrorist attacks, however, the figure has fallen to about 5%.

Without official status, queer Palestinians struggle to find permanent housing, to secure work, or to access healthcare. Low levels of education and limited Hebrew skills make integration even harder. Israeli Arabs look down on people from the West Bank, while Jews see them as a security threat, Omar explains.

Israeli Arabs look down on people from the West Bank, while Jews see them as a security threat

Many of the refugees dream of moving to Canada, Switzerland, or Europe, but their limited education and lack of language skills also stand in their way. Beit al-Mim helps them find safe housing in Israel and provides legal and psychological support — sometimes simply making sure they have food to eat.

Omar himself is an openly gay Muslim and an Israeli citizen. When he came out, his religious, hijab-wearing mother told him, “God made you this way. We love you as you are.” But, he says, far from all LGBTQ Arabs in Israel find support from their families. “Many face homophobia and threats at work and in their communities. On top of that, we often experience discrimination because we are Arabs,” he says, recalling an incident in which a gay couple in Budapest asked him whether he was carrying a knife after hearing him speak Arabic.

Triple prejudice

L., an Arab transgender woman, has identified as Israeli since childhood. She became particularly aware of her Israeli identity during the Second Lebanon War in the summer of 2006. “They attacked all of us. I was born in this Jewish state. This is my home,” she explains.

L.'s mother sought to integrate into Israeli society. Her father, however, insisted on identifying as Palestinian, seeing it as a form of resistance against the “Zionist regime” — “they were constantly arguing over which language should dominate in our home,” L. recalls.

After high school, L. voluntarily enlisted in the Israeli military, where she first began seriously thinking about the Palestinian side of the conflict. “That’s when I began confronting the issue of the occupation and what we as a state do beyond our borders,” she says.

Reflecting on her gender identity, L. says she is tired of living up to other people’s expectations. “Some people hate me because I’m too queer. Others because I’m Israeli. Some don’t like me because I’m Arab. Others because I said something they didn’t like. Well, to hell with it! It’s time to return to being myself,” she concludes.

Pryanishnikov said the case could ultimately see Kazakhstan extradite a Ukrainian citizen to Russia for the first time since the full-scale invasion began. Notably, two other Ukrainians are already serving prison terms in Russia on espionage charges after being lured to the Kaliningrad Region in 2023 to retrieve the same child.

Rozhanska flew from Istanbul to Astana on Oct. 1 and was detained immediately at Russia’s request. She had traveled to Kazakhstan to collect her 8-year-old grandson under an agreement reached in advance with his Russian relatives. Pryanishnikov told The Insider that the boy is included on Ukraine’s lists of children abducted by Russia.

“The father, a member of Ukraine’s armed forces, was allowed to see his son in person during school holidays in the Kaliningrad Region”

The lawyer said the case dates back to 2021 and began as an ordinary family dispute. Ukrainian citizen Alla Andreeva (née Sochnik), was living in Odesa with her child, who was born in 2018 during a previous marriage. In 2020, she married Vitaly Andreev, a Russian sailor whom she met in Odesa. Pryanishnikov said Andreev “put pressure on her and called Ukraine a foreign country,” insisting that she move to Russia. In August 2021, Andreeva traveled with her son and Russian husband to Kaliningrad, ostensibly to visit his parents, but they never returned to Ukraine. As Pryanishnikov explained:

“The father gave permission for the boy to leave temporarily, on the condition that he be returned to Ukraine. As soon as they left, problems began. The return kept being postponed, and then the full-scale invasion began. In March 2022, the child’s mother went to Russia’s Interior Ministry and declared that she no longer wished to hold Ukrainian citizenship. She filed the same declaration on behalf of the child. Both eventually obtained Russian citizenship fairly quickly.

Then legal disputes began in Kaliningrad courts over the father’s contact with the child. The boy’s new Russian family brought in all kinds of specialists, including psychologists, who said in their assessments that the child should not communicate with his father because his father was a Ukrainian citizen. Their position was essentially, ’how can he regularly speak with his father by video call, as we had requested, if a Ukrainian flag might be hanging in the background?’ All of this was accompanied by references to Putin’s decree launching the ‘special military operation,’ statements that the boy was growing up as a Russian patriot, and so on.

Eventually, a Kaliningrad court ruled that the father, a serviceman in Ukraine’s armed forces, could see his son in person during the summer holidays, but only in the Kaliningrad Region.”

“Rozhanska was being lured to Kazakhstan”

Pryanishnikov said negotiations continued with the child’s new Russian relatives:

“In 2023, an agreement was reached to hand the boy over to Ukraine. Under that agreement, two Ukrainian citizens traveled through Lithuania to the Kaliningrad region to collect the child. But they were detained, accused of attempting to abduct the child, and later also charged with espionage [the independent outlet Mediazona briefly reported on the case]. They were put under heavy pressure there, forced to give up their lawyers, and sentenced to 15 and 16 years in prison. Around the same time, a Russian court named Rozhanska, who has now been detained in Kazakhstan, as the organizer of the ‘abduction’ — even though charging a grandmother with trying to abduct her own grandson is highly unusual.”

According to the lawyer, negotiations over returning the child to his father in Ukraine resumed in the summer of 2026. This time, the boy’s Russian family proposed dropping mutual claims and handing the child over to his father as ordered by Ukraine’s Supreme Court in 2025. The exchange was set to take place in Kazakhstan. However, as Pryanishnikov explained:

“The night before the flight [from Kaliningrad] to Astana, the child’s stepfather and stepgrandfather recorded a video from the airport showing how they were supposedly seeing the boy off on a flight to Kazakhstan. He was supposed to travel there with his stepfather. But in the end, the boy did not fly anywhere. I can now see that the negotiations were conducted under FSB control. First, the Russian family insisted specifically on Kazakhstan. Second, they kept postponing the handover. Third, as it turned out, the date of the meeting in Astana was agreed at exactly the time a court in Kaliningrad, at the FSB’s request, ordered Rozhanska’s arrest in absentia.

Everything suggests she was being lured there. The meeting kept being delayed because, for bureaucratic reasons, they had not yet managed to complete everything that was needed in order to impose a preventive measure, to put her on a wanted list, and to send the documents to Kazakhstan through CSTO channels.”

“This would give Russian security agencies engaged in political policing much broader reach”

Pryanishnikov said the case has several political dimensions. First, it involves a child who is included on Ukraine’s list of children unlawfully held in Russia. He continued:

“Throughout the war, there has been the issue of Russia taking Ukrainian children away and erasing their Ukrainian identity. People may imagine that they are being taken away in trucks at gunpoint. But that is not usually how it happens. Most of the cases I encounter, including those raised by the Ukrainian ombudsman’s office, involve families that have broken apart. Roughly speaking, relatives end up on opposite sides. There was one case, for example, in which the father was serving in Ukraine’s armed forces while relatives on the mother’s side took the child to the occupied part of the Donetsk Region.

The most important point is that, in violation of the Convention on the Rights of the Child, children are being stripped of their identity and citizenship against their will, without even consulting the other parent. In the case of Rozhanskaya’s grandson, for example, the child’s mother told a Kaliningrad court that her son was growing up as a ‘Russian patriot’ and should not be allowed to see his Ukrainian father.”

Second, Rozhanska’s detention could set a dangerous precedent for Ukrainians who live in or travel to CSTO member states, Pryanishnikov said. Since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Kazakhstan has not extradited Ukrainian citizens to Russia at Moscow’s request — the only exception being a man with dual citizenship who was deported to Russia as a Russian passport holder. Pryanishnikov explained:

“After facing many restrictions on its ability to operate through Interpol, Russia has been actively looking for other mechanisms to detain people it is interested in. Now it is trying to test an extradition mechanism through a CSTO request. If this works, it would set a precedent for extraditing a Ukrainian citizen at Russia’s request. That would give Russian security agencies engaged in political policing much broader reach. Ukrainian volunteers or activists helping the armed forces or working on humanitarian issues in former Soviet countries, for example, could fall within their sights. And because of the kinds of organizations they work with, cases can easily be classified under what Russia calls terrorism-related provisions of its criminal code.”

Finally, the lawyer said, the case could be an attempt to establish another channel for replenishing Russia’s “exchange fund” — a term commonly used for civilian prisoners who may later be used in prisoner swaps involving Russian agents and officers captured abroad.

Rozhanska is currently being held in a temporary detention facility in Astana. A court is expected to consider her possible extradition to Russia within the next three days.

The unusual buildup was first flagged by the open source intelligence researcher Russian Forces Spotter.

As of Sept. 30, about 150 vessels were waiting for clearance to enter Russian ports — 65 tankers and 85 cargo ships, according to Russian Forces Spotter. There are now about 200 vessels in the area: 111 tankers and 83 cargo ships. That figure includes both ships waiting to enter port and vessels that have recently departed.

The largest queue, stretching nearly 60 kilometers, has formed around the entrance to the Gulf of Finland. The ships are clustered about 120 kilometers from Ust-Luga, one of Russia’s key oil terminals in the region. Of the 43 vessels currently waiting, at least six are part of Russia’s “shadow fleet” (a term commonly used for ageing, poorly insured vessels involved in transporting oil in ways designed to circumvent international sanctions).

A month ago, the queue was about half as large, with roughly 24 vessels.

The congestion began building in mid-August. Maps from earlier in the summer show no more than 10 vessels in the area, but by September 30 to 40 ships could be seen waiting on most days. 

In mid-August, Reuters reported that Russian authorities had begun implementing a plan to free up export capacity at Baltic ports and had therefore begun routing Kazakh oil through the port of Novorossiysk for export. The move came amid increased shipping risks in the Black Sea, where Russia-linked vessels became regular targets of Ukrainian drone attacks in the second half of the summer.

According to the Telegram channel Dossier Shpiona (lit. “Spy Dossier”) the incident occurred Oct. 1 while Russian forces were repelling a large-scale drone attack. The Su-35 crew mistakenly identified the Mi-8 as an unmanned aerial vehicle and opened fire. The helicopter crashed in the Anninsky District of the Voronezh Region, about 80 kilometers from the city of Voronezh. The pilot, navigator and gunner were killed.

Fighterbomber did not explicitly state the cause of the incident, writing that:

“It’s a classic problem that humanity will likely never overcome, despite AI, robots, neural networks, ‘friend or foe’ systems, and other wonders of science and technology. All of which pale in comparison to His Majesty the f---ing idiot.”

The Telegram channel Oko Hora (lit. “Eye of Horus”) reported that the Mi-8 was on a takeoff pad and began lifting off after a drone alert was declared, after which it came under fire from the Su-35. The channel said the helicopter was mistaken for a drone.

The Ukrainian Telegram channel Ukraine Context reported Russia’s loss of a Mi-8 in the Voronezh Region before the Spy Dossier post was published. The channel later said preliminary data indicated that a Russian Su-35 had shot down the Mi-8 after mistaking it for a drone. The channel In Factum also reported that the crew was killed, while Ukrainian outlet UNIAN said the helicopter was downed by Russian forces.

The Voronezh Region came under a large-scale drone attack on the evening of Oct. 1. Regional governor Alexander Gusev said 62 drones were destroyed over two urban areas and six other districts in the region.

It was not the first reported loss of a Russian Mi-8 during efforts to repel a Ukrainian drone attack. Overnight into March 4, a Russian military helicopter crashed in the settlement of Dudki in the Rostov Region, about 2.5 kilometers from the Millerovo military airfield. According to the independent Russian publication Astra, the Mi-8 was shot down by Russian air defenses and crashed into a local farmer’s barn. All three crew members were killed, and no civilians were injured. Sources in Russia’s Emergency Situations Ministry confirmed the circumstances of the crash and the deaths of the crew.

The decision was made at a meeting of the company’s shareholders. Schröder will help oversee the “strategic development” of the company’s business in Russia.

Thomas Bruch, owner of Giperglobus and a shareholder in the Germany-based Globus group, said Schröder was appointed thanks to his many years of experience in Russia’s political and economic life. His perspective would help the company maintain a “dialogue-oriented approach” under current conditions, RBC quoted Bruch as saying.

Globus hypermarkets remain among the relatively few foreign retailers still operating in Russia after the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. In January 2025, Giperglobus LLC left Germany’s Globus Holding, but the Russian company continues to use the Globus brand and has the same shareholders as the German chain.

Other foreign retailers, including Metro Cash & Carry, Auchan, and Lemana PRO (formerly Leroy Merlin) also continue to operate in Russia — however, their Russian businesses were placed under “temporary management” in September.

Schröder has maintained ties to Russia, including a personal relationship with Vladimir Putin. In May, Putin named Schröder as an example of a European figure he would consider to be an acceptable mediator in talks involving Ukraine.

A7 is run by fugitive Moldovan oligarch Ilan Shor, who resides in Russia. The network relies heavily on subagents — companies in third countries that use falsified trade documents to disguise payments involving sanctioned entities as ordinary commercial transactions. A7 itself said that as of January 2026, it was processing more than 2,000 transactions a day worth a combined 7.5 trillion rubles ($89.5 billion) — equivalent to about 13% of Russia’s foreign trade in 2025. More than $17 billion passed through the subagents from January 2025 through June 2026.

The U.S. Treasury said the network was also used by Iran’s central bank, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, and Tehran-backed groups, including Hamas, as well as by cybercriminals. One subagent worked with participants in Iran’s “shadow fleet,” receiving nearly $140 million. Another transferred about $1.6 million to a company linked to weapons procurement for Iran.

U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent said:

“Today’s action targeting A7 continues Treasury’s unprecedented efforts to isolate Iran and its financial enablers and sends a clear message that if you facilitate illicit finance for America’s adversaries, you will lose access to the U.S. financial system.”

In July, the European Union imposed sanctions on Leonid Shumakov, head of the A7A5 stablecoin, the companies A7 Agent and A71, and Mikhail Dorofeyev, deputy chairman of Promsvyazbank (PSB). The A7 payment network was created in late 2024 by PSB and Shor. In April, The Financial Times reported that the network was building infrastructure in Africa and identified Dorofeyev at the opening of its office in Nigeria.

The vote was undoubtedly a success for Marine Le Pen. Her party and its far-right allies had never before had even a small group in the legislature's upper chamber. Yet Le Pen would be wrong to present Sunday's relative success as the guarantee of a second breakthrough: her victory in the 2027 presidential election.

For one thing, Senate elections in France are not direct. Senators are chosen by an electoral college made up of representatives delegated by municipal councils. As a result, a candidate’s party affiliation matters less than their record and reputation in a particular département.

Second, political debate has historically centered on the National Assembly, while senators tend to be less inclined to make high-profile statements. Only a small number of senators, for example, regularly speak out on foreign policy. Finally, the nature of local representation means that the political makeup of the Senate does not mirror the overall balance of political forces in France. In the previous Senate, for example, the traditional Republican right and the centrist coalition held a solid majority, even though their standing at the national level had long been in decline. That balance will remain largely unchanged in the new Senate.

The Senate’s political makeup does not mirror the overall balance of political forces in France

The reasons for this divergence are clear: politics works to a different rhythm at the local level. Voters may agree with the sharp criticisms of the government and established parties leveled by Le Pen or by her opposite number on the left Jean-Luc Mélenchon, but that does not diminish their trust in a good mayor or municipal councilor, even if that person has spent their entire political career in one of those same established parties.

One important conclusion can nevertheless be drawn already. If Marine Le Pen wins the 2027 presidential election, the Senate could become a significant check on her power, particularly when it comes to her plans to amend the Constitution by referendum. The National Rally’s representation in the upper house has grown from negligible to very weak, while the majority remains in the hands of a coalition of moderate conservatives and centrists. The Senate will of course not systematically obstruct a newly elected president (whoever he or she may be), but the populists’ most radical ideas are unlikely to find much support there.

Meanwhile, the presidential campaign is gradually gathering momentum. Even if it has thus far produced no major surprises, there have been some unexpected turns. Few, for example, could have predicted that throughout September all the candidates would be forced to keep discussing gas station prices. Gasoline now costs more than €2 a liter, with diesel even more expensive, at around €2.40. This poses a major and complex problem for the government.

The main issue: the fuel crisis

There are two Frances. One is the France of large- and medium-sized cities, where people can easily get around on foot, by bicycle or tram, and do not rely on cars every day. Given that many drive electric vehicles, it is easy to see why the fuel crisis does not concern them much.

Then there is provincial France, where people commute dozens of kilometers to and from work every day. For them, there is no alternative to the car, and they tend to be people on low or middle incomes who cannot afford anything fancier than an aging diesel Renault.

For them, rising fuel prices have been deeply painful. In September, fishermen were already protesting the fact that every trip to sea had become much more expensive. The anger of provincial France, sudden and fierce, recently found expression in the Yellow Vest movement of 2018-2020 – a nightmare the political establishment does not wish to see repeated.

Taxes account for roughly 56% of the price of fuel. Several of France’s neighbors have temporarily cut fuel taxes, at least in part, making it possible to fill up in Germany or Italy at prices that are lower, even if they are not back to pre-crisis levels. However, with a budget deficit of 5.1% and public debt at 116%, the French government cannot afford to do the same, since any loss of tax revenue would only worsen the situation. Meanwhile, France’s debt-servicing costs are now higher than even Greece’s, which was on the brink of bankruptcy just 15 years ago.

The government is offering targeted assistance to people who have to drive long distances or, like fishermen and farmers, need fuel for their boats and farm machinery. But these are only partial measures, weighed down by inevitable bureaucratic complications. With no end in sight to the crisis around Iran, oil prices appear set to remain high, and if they do, social tensions will only grow.

Taxes account for 56% of the price of fuel in France

The presidential candidates may prefer to talk about something else, but under the circumstances there is no avoiding the question: “What would you do about fuel prices?” Le Pen is promising to unveil a plan in October that would slash government spending so deeply that fuel excise duties could easily be reduced.

The left-wing Mélenchon, meanwhile, wants to freeze prices and while raising taxes on the wealthy and on the profits of large companies. Édouard Philippe and other centrists are more cautious, as some of them were in government until recently and understand the scale of the budget problems. They see both extremes – left and right – as forms of unrealistic populism. In any case, the fuel crisis has become one of the main themes of the presidential campaign and could remain so for a long time afterward, especially if it triggers social unrest.

Leading the polls

The frontrunner for the first round of the presidential election is indeed Le Pen, and she remains firmly at the top of the polls, with support above 30% in a field where no other candidate tops 20%. At the same time, her numbers are slightly below their summer peak of 36%, and some pollsters now put her at 31–33%.

It is worth noting, however, that Le Pen has yet to reveal the details of her economic program, making a substantive assessment of her presidential ambitions impossible.

Le Pen’s support remains above 30%, while none of her rivals has surpassed 20%

What is known for certain? The key slogan of Marine Le Pen’s campaign will be “national priority.” It should not, however, be understood as a translation of Donald Trump’s America First — it is not about settling scores with France’s neighbors or leaving the EU, and is still less about grandiose foreign-policy ambitions.

National priority means tighter immigration rules, withdrawing from international aid programs, and restricting foreigners’ social rights, particularly when it comes to social benefits and housing support. There is nothing surprising about these plans. Marine Le Pen has long advocated lowering the retirement age back to 60 or cutting VAT by saving money on outlays for migrants. She has also promised to sharply reduce aid to Ukraine.

There are two problems with her plans. First, it would be nice to see the figures and scrutinize the calculations of Le Pen’s economic advisers, because there is reason to suspect that the numbers will not add up. France’s huge budget deficit is largely the result of persistent deficits in the pension and social security systems, but instead of reforming them, Le Pen proposes looking for money elsewhere. Some of her ideas may well prove sensible, but the need for fundamental reforms, which she apparently does not intend to pursue, will not disappear.

Second, attempts to put her promised policies into practice could encounter strong institutional resistance. In traditional populist fashion, Le Pen intends to appeal directly to the people by seeking approval in a referendum, including for constitutional amendments. She has little alternative, since it remains unclear whether her party could secure a majority in the National Assembly (to say nothing of the Senate and the Constitutional Council, which would have to approve any referendum) even if she wins the presidential election. 

According to the polls, Le Pen remains comfortably in the lead, but the campaign is still ahead. The various contradictions in her program will not trouble her committed supporters, but they may give pause to those in the protest electorate who have the slightest inclination to look beyond the slogans and examine the details.

The battle for the second round

Le Pen still has no serious rival at the top of the race, as her competitors are vying with one another for the right to face the right-wing populist in the second round. A special place in this competition belongs to Jean-Luc Mélenchon, the candidate of the radical-left party La France Insoumise and a perennial contender in presidential elections, where he has typically won around 20% of the vote. Polls currently put him at 19%, potentially enough to carry him into the second round, where he would face Marine Le Pen an a showdown of polar opposites that could end up tipping to the right.

Mélenchon's unfavorable rating is at almost unprecedented levels: more than 60% of French voters say they would never vote for him. A Trotskyist in his youth, Mélenchon has never concealed his hostility toward capitalism in general and the wealthy in particular. His program essentially calls for taking money from the rich by raising every conceivable tax and redistributing the proceeds to the poor in the name of social justice.

Mélenchon’s prospects of reaching the second round would improve if he could unite the entire left behind him, but the Socialists will hold primaries in October to choose a candidate who will have the backing not only of the party but also of moderate left-wing environmentalist movements and trade unions whose members are tired of Mélenchon’s radicalism. Raphaël Glucksmann, a member of the European Parliament currently appears to be the frontrunner among the Socialist candidates. According to polls, he could win around 12% in the first round of the presidential vote. He rejects any alliance with La France Insoumise and could challenge Mélenchon for the support of left-wing voters in April.

Among the centrist and center-right candidates, former prime minister Édouard Philippe currently has the strongest position. Polls put him at around 19% in the first round, on par with Mélenchon. Unlike the Socialists, the centrist camp has no primary planned, and there is no guarantee it will unite behind a single candidate — but if it does, that choice will most likely be made in early 2027, after the current contenders have had a chance to test their public support. Whether Philippe or a different centrist ultimately makes it to the second round, they would prove to be a much more challenging opponent for Le Pen given their potential to unite the electorate against her — as happened in 2017 and 2022, when Le Pen lost to Emmanuel Macron by margins of 32% and 17%, respectively. 

So far, then, the Senate elections have brought no definitive clarity to the 2027 presidential race. Marine Le Pen is riding high, but until her opponent in the second round is known, uncertainty will remain. Much will depend on whether she faces a politician who can unite the left and the center, or a polarizing figure like Mélenchon.

Still, one thing is already clear: even if she wins in 2027, Le Pen will not control the institutional checks on presidential power, particularly the Senate. Her promise to hold a referendum to overcome resistance from the political establishment is therefore almost certain to fail, even if she manages to win the presidency.

Ukraine’s nuclear regulator described the strike on the institute as “an attack on a peaceful nuclear facility that serves exclusively scientific and research purposes,” adding that the attack itself represented “Russia’s cynical disregard for internationally recognized principles and standards of nuclear and radiation safety.” No one was injured in the attack, the resulting fire was extinguished, and neither the reactor nor its safety systems were damaged, the agency said. Radiation levels also remained unchanged.

Pavel Podvig, an expert on Russian strategic nuclear forces, told The Insider that the research reactor is located in a conventional building without the kind of specialized containment structure typically found around reactors at nuclear power plants. Because of that, he said, a strike by “a sufficiently powerful warhead could cause serious damage to everything inside.” He then added:

“On the other hand, the reactor itself is not very large, and to seriously damage it, you would have to hit it directly, which is fairly difficult. It is probably not accurate to say there is a significant risk of a radiation incident, but it cannot be ruled out entirely. The reactor is not actually operating; the fuel has been removed, so there is almost no radioactivity in the reactor itself. That fuel is stored in some kind of spent fuel pool or other storage facility. You would not only have to hit that facility but also damage it badly, which, again, is fairly difficult.

At the same time, attacks on facilities of this kind should be unacceptable. Civilian facilities should not be attacked in principle, but nuclear facilities carry an additional risk, even if that risk is relatively small.”

Podvig added that the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) has no practical means to ensure the safety of these facilities:

“There are nuclear safety and security principles that the IAEA formulated at the start of the war, but strictly speaking, these issues do not fall within the agency’s mandate. It is trying to establish these principles and urging everyone to follow them, but it does not even have the formal authority to insist on compliance. There has been discussion and an effort within the IAEA to establish a principle that all nuclear facilities under IAEA safeguards should not be attacked. The problem is that some states object to such a broad principle. Facilities in Iran that Israel and the United States attacked were also under IAEA safeguards. The United States has a certain interest in avoiding such a broad commitment.”

Maxim Starchak, a research fellow at the Centre for International and Defence Policy at Queen’s University in Canada, told The Insider that, based on the available information, the drone struck the grounds of the institute without damaging either the reactor or its safety systems. He said:

“After the start of the full-scale invasion, the fuel was removed from the research reactor and placed in the spent fuel pool, after which the reactor ceased operating. In other words, the reactor is shut down. Under these circumstances, a drone strike on the reactor itself would not cause a major disaster. Some risk would arise if the spent fuel pool were destroyed. That could theoretically lead to a loss of radiation shielding and damage to the spent fuel, resulting in radioactive contamination. However, the reactor has been shut down for more than four years, and its fuel produces relatively little residual heat. As a result, a scenario in which the fuel rapidly overheats after a loss of cooling would now be far less severe than if the reactor core had been unloaded only days or weeks ago.”

The Sarmat (IMO: 8027133) sails under the Russian flag and is owned by Northern Alliance LLC, a company registered in St. Petersburg. According to the OSINT analysts, the Sarmat was towing a jack-up barge fitted with three legs and an excavator – equipment designed for offshore operations and capable of working directly on the seabed. The project reported that from Sept. 18 to 23, the vessel operated between Læsø and mainland Denmark, an area where numerous power and telecommunications cables run.

Starboard Maritime Intelligence data reviewed by The Insider shows that the Sarmat approached the northernmost coast of the Jutland Peninsula on Sept. 12 and remained virtually stationary until the 15th, when it began sailing along the Danish coast between the mainland and Læsø. The Sarmat only began sailing away from the area where the cables are laid on Sept. 22, and by the 24th it was already rounding Norway’s southern coast. As of Oct. 1, the tug was moving northeast along the Norwegian coast toward Murmansk.

As Russian Forces Spotter notes, the repeated movements and the location in which they took place make the Sarmat's activities particularly suspicious. At the same time, the OSINT project stresses that a high risk of sabotage does not mean that an act sabotage actually occurred. When a local ferry asked the Sarmat to move away from its planned route, the Russian vessel replied: “Not possible, in operation.” When asked what kind of work it was doing, it replied: “Towing.” As the OSINT project notes:

“The alert was lifted. But a Russian tug spending days manoeuvring with seabed-capable equipment around critical Danish subsea infrastructure is not something to dismiss as routine.”

The Danish outlet DR reported that Danish authorities formed a local crisis management group and were prepared to respond if any illegal activity by the Sarmat was detected. Authorities learned about the Russian vessel after “a concerned citizen contacted the Læsø municipality” upon seeing the Russian tug.

On Sept. 10, Reuters reported that the UK, U.S. and Norway had disrupted a Russian operation near Svalbard in the spring of 2026 that appeared to be testing new technology for covertly disabling undersea cables.

A Planet Labs image taken last year shows two tugboats moving an underwater vehicle roughly 70 meters long —  about the same length as the AS-31 Losharik nuclear-powered deep-sea station. The researcher notes that the vehicle rarely appears in satellite imagery from the Olenya Guba area, where the base is located, suggesting it typically stays under the docks’ canopies.

GUGI and Losharik

GUGI handles deep-sea operations that include seabed mapping, underwater rescue work, and activities related to underwater infrastructure. It has deep-sea vehicles at its disposal, as well as larger carrier submarines to deliver them to operation sites. The reconnaissance ship Yantar also makes regular visits to Olenya Guba.

Losharik is one of Russia’s most secretive nuclear-powered deep-sea vessels and one of GUGI’s key vehicles for seabed operations. Available estimates suggest it can operate at depths of over 1,000 meters, allowing it to be used for exploring and potentially tampering with underwater infrastructure, including communication cables. To reach an operation area, Losharik can employ specialized carrier submarines, including the Podmoskovye. The study’s authors call it Russia’s most advanced vehicle for seabed operations and believe that in the event of a conflict between Russia and NATO, the Losharik could play an important role in actions against critical underwater infrastructure.

What the images show

Having examined Cold War-era American intelligence imagery, images from the French SPOT satellite system, and recent commercial satellite imagery, the study’s author concluded that specialized shelters for deep-sea vehicles appeared in Olenya Guba as early as September 1991. A ground-level photograph near one of these floating docks also shows a Project 1910 Kashalot deep-sea submarine belonging to GUGI. The researcher calls the appearance of these structures the earliest reliable visual evidence of GUGI’s presence at this base.

Since then, the base’s infrastructure has not expanded significantly, though the capabilities of the forces stationed there have grown. Besides the Yantar, GUGI carrier submarines can be seen at Olenya Guba, including the Podmoskovye, designed to transport deep-sea vehicles. 

The study comes amid reports of GUGI activity near critical underwater infrastructure belonging to NATO countries. In April, UK Defence Secretary John Healey stated that British forces, together with Norway and other allies, tracked a Russian attack submarine, two special-purpose submarines, and the Yantar near undersea cables and pipelines.

Reuters later reported that the U.S. helped drive off Russian special-purpose submarines that were allegedly conducting a covert operation using technology designed to disable undersea cables. No visible signs of tampering were found after the incident. 

Russia’s total seaborne exports of diesel and gasoil nearly halved over the week, falling to 81,000 tons. All of those volumes were loaded at the Baltic port of Primorsk and were headed to Morocco and Venezuela. A week earlier, Russian diesel was being shipped to at least five countries, including Turkey, Morocco, and Singapore.

From Sept. 1 through Sept. 24, Russia exported 448,000 tons of diesel and gasoil by sea. By comparison, S&P put the figure at 535,000 tons in August and 713,000 tons in July. Russian ports also went a second consecutive week without shipping gasoline or jet fuel.

The Black Sea has become more expensive to insure

The drop in shipments coincided with a sharp increase in threats to shipping in the Black Sea. On Sept. 16, the Joint War Committee, which brings together representatives of the London insurance market, expanded its high-war-risk zone to cover nearly the entire Black Sea — Turkish, Romanian, Bulgarian, and Georgian territorial waters were excluded, but Russian and Ukrainian waters fell inside the risk zone.

According to calculations by maritime security company Ambrey, 45 commercial vessels were struck outside the previous risk zone in the 12 months from Sept. 21, 2025 to Sept. 21, 2026. There were no such incidents during the preceding 12-month period.

As a result, shipping insurance costs are rising, with the additional war-risk premium for loading oil at Black Sea ports reaching $2.90 a barrel by Sept. 21, up from 90 cents at the end of 2025, according to a Platts estimate. The rate has more than tripled over nine months.

In August, The Insider reported that following Ukrainian attacks, Russian oil shipments to India from Novorossiysk fell by a factor of 4.4, while freight costs rose by about 50%.

Exports restricted after Ukraine strikes Russian refineries

At the same time, Russia itself is restricting fuel exports. The government extended a ban on diesel exports by producers through the end of October, though shipments under intergovernmental agreements remain exempt. The Russian authorities say the measure is necessary in order to secure supplies for the domestic market amid high seasonal demand.

The Insider also reported in August that the restrictions had been tightened after a series of Ukrainian strikes on Russian oil refineries. In July, Russia’s seaborne exports of petroleum products had already fallen by nearly 22%, reaching their lowest level since S&P began keeping the data in 2016. Exports of diesel and gasoil fell by about one-third.

At the same time, the drop in petroleum-product exports has been accompanied by an increase in crude oil shipments. In the four weeks through Sept. 27, Russia exported an average of 3.71 million barrels of crude a day by sea, while weekly revenue from those sales reached its highest level since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, as strikes on refineries reduce Russia’s domestic processing capacity, leaving more crude oil available for export.

On Aug. 10, Russia’s Supreme Court barred the anti-war Yabloko party from running in the September parliamentary election. The traditional “liberal” party entered the campaign in an extremely weakened state: it no longer had the necessary financial resources to run a major campaign, nor did it boast a line-up of candidates with sufficient charisma and name-recognition to attract voters on their own. Some of its most prominent figures, including Lev Shlosberg in Pskov and Maxim Kruglov in Moscow, were being held in pretrial detention. Others were barred from running because of new legal restrictions.

Most Russians had not heard much about Yabloko in recent  years, and its support had hovered around 1% for over a decade, receiving an official 1.34% of the vote in the 2021 Duma election as opposition-minded Russians cast their ballots en masse for the Communist Party as part of the late Alexei Navalny’s “smart voting” campaign. In other words, Yabloko’s participation in the fall election initially appeared to pose little threat to Russia’s political system.

Then Yabloko’s anti-war platform unexpectedly began attracting widespread attention, including among young people on TikTok. Videos supporting the party went viral, mentions of Yabloko on social media began approaching those of the Communist Party, and even previously apolitical bloggers joined the trend.

After being added to the ballot, Yabloko’s polling numbers rose sharply with even Kremlin-friendly pollsters recording the change. According to the Public Opinion Foundation (FOM), support for the party rose from 1% in July to 4% in early August.

Within days of appearing on the ballot, Yabloko’s poll numbers surged

Data published by the state-run Russian Public Opinion Research Center (VTsIOM) is even more revealing. VTsIOM does not publish separate results for parties that did not clear the 5% threshold in the 2021 election, instead combining them into a single category. In mid-July, that group was polling at around 4%. However, by  Aug. 2, it had reached 10.3%, and by Aug. 9, it stood at 12.7%. After Yabloko was removed from the slate of available options, the figure fell back to 4.1%.

The difference — 8.6 percentage points — was almost certainly attributable to Yabloko, and the figure roughly matched leaked data from unpublished polling. At that level of support, the party would have comfortably cleared the 5% barrier necessary for representation in the State Duma. Even more importantly, that support appeared to still be in the early stages of growth.

presidential administration sets the basic parameters in advance — deciding which parties and candidates will compete, where they will run, and roughly how many votes they will receive. Vladimir Putin’s ruling United Russia party had already reached agreements with its nominal opponents over the division of single-member districts in order to avoid competition even at that level. The expectation was that the so-called “systemic opposition” — officially registered parties that operate within the Kremlin-controlled political system — would be allowed to win in the 16 districts where no United Russia nominees appeared on the ballot. Unsurprisingly, candidates from United Russia won elections in 208 out of the country’s 224 single-mandate districts, leaving precisely 16 such seats to politicians from the Kremlin-approved “opposition,”   

Meanwhile, activist networks and genuinely anti-Kremlin politicians were, as usual, neutralized through repression long before voting began. Parties with representation in the Duma frequently decline to nominate strong candidates so as not to lose the Kremlin’s approval for participation, and unwanted independent contenders are prevented from collecting signatures or are denied registration even after seeming to have met all of the bureaucratic obstacles to inclusion. And of course, election results themselves can be falsified or adjusted through opaque electronic voting systems.

By 2026, opportunities for independent election monitoring had been reduced to almost zero. Organizations that previously took on that task, including the independent group Golos, have been subjected to repression, with the movement’s co-chair Grigory Melkonyants handed five years in prison in May 2025. Candidates have also lost the right to appoint commission members with advisory voting rights, a mechanism that had remained an important tool for monitoring during the previous election campaign.

That raises an obvious question: if Russia’s presidential administration already controls the election process almost entirely, why hold elections at all? Why not simply appoint officials instead of putting them through a nominal electoral process that runs the risk of producing evidence of falsification potentially serious enough to threaten a loss of control?

What elections do for autocracies

According to calculations by Danish researcher Merete Bech Seeberg, before the end of the Cold War 65% of authoritarian regimes worldwide qualified as “electoral autocracies” — systems that held elections in some form — but in only 15% of these cases were alternative options permitted to appear on the ballot.

A major shift came during the so-called “third wave” of democratization from 1974 to 1991, which culminated in the collapse of the Soviet bloc. As the overall number of authoritarian regimes fell, the way those regimes were structured also changed.

During the Cold War, only about 15% of the autocracies mentioned above held actual multiparty elections. Afterward, however, that share rose to 55%. This did not simply reflect the disappearance of other regime types. Hegemonic authoritarian regimes — systems built around a dominant ruling party such as United Russia — increased their share of all political regimes worldwide from 10% to 27%.

During the Cold War, only about 15% of autocracies held multiparty elections. Afterward, the figure rose to 55%

Today, even highly authoritarian countries such as China and Iran hold elections in which voters are formally offered more than one party or candidate. Iran has no single dominant party, and elections can be relatively competitive among approved candidates. The main filtering takes place before voting, when the Guardian Council excludes office-seekers deemed insufficiently loyal.

In China, the Communist Party holds more than 80% of seats in the National People’s Congress, and its leading role is enshrined in the constitution. However, eight other parties are represented, along with independent candidates. Notably though, none describe themselves as being opposed to the Communist Party.

Since 2023, even North Korea has formally allowed voters to cast ballots against candidates proposed by the authorities, although only about one-tenth of 1% of voters reportedly dared to do so.

Research shows that while elections can pose short-term risks to authoritarian governments, allowing opposition forces to mobilize supporters and coordinate protests, over the longer term, elections tend to strengthen such regimes. In both democracies and autocracies, elections perform several important functions beyond simply deciding who takes office.

Co-opting elites

Elections determine who gets access to political office. In an autocracy, the regime controls the limits of acceptable choice and can use elections to bring people with their own independent resources into the system. A businessperson, regional politician or other influential figure receives an office and the benefits that come with it, but at the same time becomes integrated into institutions controlled by the state.

Elections can similarly co-opt part of the opposition. A potential rival is offered limited political influence within the system in exchange for giving up efforts to overthrow it.

In Russia, for example, businesspeople are more likely to enter politics in poorer regions and in places where parties spend less money building their own networks. That allows businesses to protect their lobbying investments and increase profits, while parties gain access to private resources in parts of the country where their own organizations are weak.

Researchers note that business-linked candidates are less likely to run in wealthy regions, less likely to compete simultaneously in both single-member districts and party lists — which would insure them against defeat — and less likely to receive paid political positions. Most importantly, they are less likely to run again after serving one term, even though incumbents usually have an advantage when it comes to reelection.

Gathering information

Election campaigns reveal which candidates can independently mobilize voters, which groups possess their own political resources and which issues attract public attention. For an autocrat, information about potential rivals is particularly valuable. An unexpectedly strong result by a candidate or party can reveal that they have a larger political network than authorities had assumed.

Past campaigns have helped Russian authorities identify where opposition groups are strongest and then target activists and prominent lawmakers in those areas. For example, the government may bar popular Communist Party lawmakers such as Nikolai Bondarenko from running or refuse to register lists of Yabloko’s candidates precisely in those places where the party has a realistic chance of winning seats.

Managing conflicts inside the political system and rotating elites

Political coalitions are constantly changing. Some groups become stronger, others lose influence. Governors are replaced along with the patronage networks surrounding them, and new categories of potentially loyal personnel emerge.

Election cycles allow these shifts to be translated into formal changes in representation without abandoning the rules through which offices are distributed. Russian political scientist Grigory Golosov, studying three electoral cycles between 2003 and 2014, showed that changes in regional governors were usually accompanied by unusually high turnover among regional lawmakers.

The same pattern was visible in the current campaign. Many lawmakers who did not seek reelection were either associated with governors who had left office, had fallen into conflict with sitting governors, or were tied to politicians and organizations that had lost influence (such as followers of the late nationalist politician Vladimir Zhirinovsky or some of the remaining figures associated with the All-Russia People’s Front, a Kremlin-created political coalition).

Legitimacy

Authoritarian regimes use the fact that voting takes place — and the officially declared support of a majority — to portray themselves as expressions of the popular will. The electoral process preserves the appearance of a public mandate, while high turnout and electoral victories allow regimes to demonstrate to loyal elites, society, and outside observers that they still command support.

Eliminating elections entirely can be risky for authoritarian governments. Studies show that democracies are considerably more stable and less likely to descend into civil war than multiparty autocracies. Multiparty autocracies, in turn, are somewhat more stable than one-party regimes that hold elections without genuine competition. The difference between those two authoritarian models is relatively small: when dominant-party autocracies become one-party states, intraparty competition often survives and replaces competition between parties meaning that even if United Russia were to ban every other party, internal primaries would still ensure some minimal form of political competition. Still, the bigger picture shows that such a regime would be less stable than Russia’s current multiparty authoritarian system.

A striking Russian example is the abolition of direct mayoral elections. Researchers analyzed more than 400,000 responses to Russian public-opinion surveys over the past 25 years and found that abolishing mayoral elections had reduced support for Vladimir Putin. The effect was strongest in places where elections had previously been more competitive. Citizens who had experienced a genuine choice reacted more strongly when that choice was taken away.

From one-party systems to dominant parties

After the collapse of the Eastern bloc in 1989 and the fall of the Soviet Union in 1991, the states that became independent of Moscow’s influence faced a situation in which the ruling party that had previously bound the system together lost control. The European Union exerted significant influence on these countries, demanding political reforms in exchange for the provision of aid and the establishment of closer economic ties. 

Even so, dominant-party regimes still emerged in a number of countries (including Ukraine, Georgia, and Croatia) before the democratisation truly began. Transnational networks of nongovernmental organizations and democracy-supporting institutions contributed to those transitions.

Central Asia, by contrast, lacked such an institutional anchor. The Soviet Union was often viewed there as a broadly progressive project, and local elites had little incentive to break sharply with the past, particularly because they hoped to preserve their privileges. As a result, many of the same power structures that had existed before the Soviet collapse survived.

In most Central Asian states, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union effectively changed its name and was replaced by local dominant parties led by former first secretaries of Communist Party organizations — a common model for one-party regimes. Between 1950 and 2006, only 19.3% of transitions from one-party regimes ended in democracy, while about one-third transformed into dominant-party systems. Another 38.6% became military regimes. Dominant-party regimes, by comparison, had roughly equal chances of becoming either one-party systems (28.6%) or democracies (30.2%).

Between 1950 and 2006, only 19.3% of transitions from one-party regimes ended in democracy

Russia stood at a crossroads. Boris Yeltsin was in a confrontation with the Communist Party and its central apparatus. He therefore could not simply transform the old Soviet nomenklatura into a new ruling party capable of controlling the state apparatus and regulating the distribution of offices and resources.

Ora John Reuter, in his book on the rise of United Russia, also argues that Yeltsin was unable to create a dominant party due to the fact the federal government was too weak to offer governors sufficient incentives to join a nationwide party project. Governors possessed their own political machines and resources and were unwilling to invest them in such a party. As a result, the Kremlin itself had little reason to commit substantial resources to building one.

That changed in the early 2000s. As Reuter notes, rising oil revenues after Putin came to power gave governors an incentive to trade loyalty and their ability to deliver votes in the regions for resources from the federal center. The Kremlin, meanwhile, needed their support in order to carry out reforms and govern the country. Both sides therefore gained from investing in a party that could regulate that exchange. The governors who resisted joining United Russia for the longest tended to oversee wealthier regions with more developed economies and to enjoy high personal popularity, or to lead ethnic republics where politics relied heavily on personal networks.

How a dominant-party regime can change

As long as the state has sufficient resources at its command, a dominant party can maintain its advantage. Comparative research on dominant-party regimes shows that their edge comes less from popularity than from their ability to provide supporters with jobs and state benefits and maintain a larger organizational network than the opposition.

As long as that resource base remains intact, even elections free of direct ballot-rigging do not necessarily create equal competition. However, when the state begins losing control over economic resources, such as through privatization or a shrinking public sector, the ruling party’s advantages weaken, giving the opposition a chance to build an organization of comparable strength.

Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February of 2022, the space for political competition has narrowed dramatically. In recent years, laws and enforcement practices have tightened to the point that the authorities can remove a candidate from an election — or even strip an already elected lawmaker of office — at virtually any time. Holding office no longer provides protection or meaningful lobbying opportunities. Instead, it can attract unwanted attention from Russia’s security services or expose the officeholder to international sanctions. As a result, the number of people willing to run for office has dropped significantly, especially among businesspeople.

Holding office no longer provides protection or meaningful lobbying opportunities. Instead, it can attract unwanted attention from Russia’s security agencies or expose the officeholder to international sanctions

These changes mean elections are becoming less effective at stabilizing the political system. The regime’s ability to co-opt strong opponents is declining, forcing it to refresh elites increasingly from within the state bureaucracy. At the same time, the amount of money available for election campaigns is shrinking, as is candidates’ ability to reflect voters’ actual concerns and preferences and, as a result, mobilize supporters of the regime.

As often happens in authoritarian systems, the mechanisms used to gather information about citizens and public sentiment also become distorted. Over time, that leads to accumulated errors and growing public dissatisfaction. Paradoxically, the more tightly the government controls the electoral process, the greater the chance that, over the long term, that control will gradually weaken and the political system will become increasingly difficult to manage.

That reality did not lead to anything resembling a seismic event after the Russian Central Election Commission declared United Russia the winner of a flagrantly inflated 58% of the vote earlier this week. It remains to be seen what effect it may have on the country’s next presidential election in 2030.

The parties will also exchange information about terrorist and extremist groups, illegal armed formations, possible mass casualty attacks, illegal migration, and the trafficking in humans, weapons, and drugs. A separate clause provides for the transfer of data on foreign terrorist fighters and their family members. The document took effect upon signing and the prosecutor’s offices of other CIS countries have been invited to join.

According to Tatar-Inform, which cites the secretariat of the CIS Coordinating Council of Prosecutors General, the agreement also provides for cooperation on extradition and legal assistance. These provisions are not mentioned in other available descriptions of the new document.

The signed document was drafted as a new version of an agreement concluded on May 25, 2006 on combating terrorism and “other manifestations of extremism,” The Insider found. The secretariat of the CIS Coordinating Council of Prosecutors General reported on the preparation of the updated version this past April.

Notably, the previous agreement contained a key limitation: Article 1 of the document explicitly stated that it “does not affect issues of extradition and legal assistance in criminal cases.”

The 2006 agreement was signed by the prosecutors offices of Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Russia, Tajikistan, and Ukraine. The new version has six signatories so far: Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan.

The updated document was also expanded to cover technologies that were not mentioned in the previous version. The secretariat of the CIS Coordinating Council of Prosecutors General indicated that it includes the exchange of experience in combating the use of the internet and AI for terrorist purposes, the “deradicalization” of people involved in terrorist and extremist activity, and methods for preventing youth recruitment.

The agreement’s signing comes amid ongoing disputes over the extradition by Russia and other CIS countries of people prosecuted in extremism cases. Six days before the document was signed, The Insider wrote that Kazakhstan had begun coordinating with Russia on the place and time for the extradition of Chechen activist Mansur Movlaev, who faces charges of extortion and extremism in Russia. The UN Human Rights Committee had earlier called for the activist not to be extradited until his complaint was reviewed.

Nothing in the available descriptions of the new agreement suggests that recognizing a person or organization as “extremist” in one country automatically obligates other states to recognize that status. The full text of the new version of the agreement had not been published on the websites of Russia’s Prosecutor General’s Office or the CIS Coordinating Council of Prosecutors General as of the time of publication.

According to the outlet’s source, foreign literature was extracted both from the prison library and from among the inmates' belongings, to later be destroyed in a furnace. The source said only the Bible and Russian classics were allowed to remain.

In response to an inquiry from Fontanka, the St. Petersburg and Leningrad Region branch of Russia's Federal Penitentiary Service (FSIN) said that penal colonies conduct a routine monthly audit of library holdings and books belonging to inmates. The agency claims the inspection is carried out in accordance with Russian law and the Justice Ministry's Federal List of Extremist Materials. According to the press service, inspectors also check for publications that promote a “cult of violence” or “criminal subculture,” as well as books containing instructions for making prohibited items or substances.

Personal books that are not on the list of extremist materials but fail the screening are not destroyed, according to FSIN representatives — they are handed over to relatives or kept among the inmate's belongings until release. Only worn-out library books and publications from the federal extremist list may be destroyed, the agency insists. Russian classics and works by foreign authors, according to FSIN, remain in the collection and are issued to inmates under established rules.

In early September, the business outlet Kommersant reported that Russia's Ministry of Digital Development was looking for a way to keep books by “foreign agents” and “undesirable organizations” that had been published before the status was assigned available in libraries and stores. According to the ministry's estimate, if the laws were applied literally, municipal libraries could lose up to 50–70% of their holdings, and academic libraries 10–15%.

The U.S. Treasury Department announced the new restrictions on Sept. 29. The sanctions target individuals and companies in Iran, Hong Kong, China, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey. Washington says those named were involved in procuring weapons, electronics, and components for MODAFL, which oversees enterprises involved in developing ballistic missiles and drones, among other systems.

One of those sanctioned is Seyed Asghar Alizadeh Tabatabaei, MODAFL’s representative in Beijing. According to the U.S. Treasury Department, he coordinated Iranian procurement in China of complete weapons systems and dual-use components.

Electronics for a Shahed manufacturer

A separate part of the sanctions targets Iran’s Kavoshcom Asia R&D Group. The U.S. Treasury Department says the company procured electronic components, including connectors, for HESA. Kavoshcom also supplied electronics to the Shahid Bakeri Industrial Group, or SBIG, which is responsible for Iran’s solid-fuel ballistic missile program.

Kavoshcom director Ali Fotovat Ahmadi and representative Parisa Lali were sanctioned along with the company. The restrictions also target Hong Kong-based EC Mojo Technology and its representative, Li Fen. According to the U.S. Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control, or OFAC, EC Mojo supplied electronic components for Kavoshcom’s procurement activities, while Li Fen sought to evade sanctions and export controls.

HESA has been under U.S. sanctions for years. In 2023, the U.S. Treasury Department said the company manufactured Iranian Ababil- and Shahed-family drones.

HESA’s ties to Russia have also been documented in official sanctions records. In January 2023, the European Union added HESA to its sanctions list, explicitly stating that drones made by the company were being used by Russia in its war against Ukraine.

In September of that year, the U.S. Treasury Department sanctioned three Russian companies for cooperating with HESA: Technical Center Delta-Aero LLC supplied the Iranian manufacturer with propellers and tires for An-140 aircraft that HESA converted for military use, NPP Aerosila conducted ground and flight tests for HESA and facilitated deliveries of auxiliary power units, and NPP Zvezda had contracts to repair An-140 components.

Russia later localized production of Shahed-family drones in Tatarstan. In 2025, The Insider cited data from U.S. research group C4ADS indicating that Moscow had paid Iran for drone-production technology in part with gold bars worth about $104 million.

Pakistani arms manufacturer acted as an intermediary for Iran

A second part of the new sanctions network centers on Pakistani businessman Waseem Pasha Tajammal. He heads Cavalier Group, a private defense conglomerate that manufactures armored vehicles, ballistic protection equipment, and drones, among other products. The U.S. Treasury Department says Tajammal and Cavalier Group acted as third-party intermediaries for MODAFL and used business connections to procure and distribute weapons on behalf of Iran’s Defense Ministry.

The sanctions list includes three entities linked to Tajammal: Pakistan-based Cavalier Dynamics Private Limited, Saudi-based Cavalier Dynamics for Technologies Company, and Turkey-based Cavalier Dynamics Teknoloji Ticaret. The United States imposed the restrictions on the Saudi company in coordination with Saudi authorities.

On its website, Cavalier Group describes itself as Pakistan’s only privately owned diversified defense manufacturer. Its listed business lines include combat vehicles, small arms, armor protection, tactical equipment, and drones.

The new sanctions are part America’s “economic offensive” against Iran

All 10 targets were sanctioned under U.S. Executive Order 13382, which targets proliferators of weapons of mass destruction and the delivery systems for such weapons. The targets’ property and interests in property under U.S. jurisdiction are blocked, and U.S. individuals and entities are barred from doing business with them. Companies owned 50% or more by sanctioned persons are also automatically subject to the restrictions. The Treasury Department additionally warned that foreign financial institutions could face secondary sanctions if they conduct significant transactions on behalf of those on the list.

The new package was imposed as part of Operation Economic Outcast, a broader U.S. campaign of economic pressure on Iran that Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent announced on Aug. 24, describing the initiative as an “economic D-Day.” The U.S. authorities say they intend to cut off channels through which Tehran earns revenue, acquires technology, and evades international sanctions. Washington has imposed restrictions on more than 60 individuals, companies, and vessels and has threatened secondary sanctions against organizations that continue helping Iran circumvent the restrictions.

The reference to the Samara Metro store appears in the Bulletin of the Public Chamber of the Samara Region for the second half of 2022. The article described aid collections for Russian service members as part of a campaign titled “We Don’t Abandon Our Own,” a pro-war slogan widely used by Russian authorities and supporters of the invasion. The independent exiled Russian news outlet Echo first reported on the publication.

On Nov. 16, 2022, participants in the campaign were collecting their eighth shipment of what they called “public” humanitarian aid. Galina Nikolayeva, a member of the regional Public Chamber, said it included warm blankets and plastic sheeting for covering dugouts. She also thanked “the METRO store in Samara, which has already provided instant soups and noodles free of charge more than once.” The publication did not specify which of Metro’s two wholesale stores in Samara took part in the campaign.

The context of the article indicates that the aid was intended for Russian service members. The Public Chamber said that in the fall, local officials worked together with the regional branch of the Kremlin-backed All-Russia People’s Front movement to collect several truckloads of supplies “for the needs of the 2nd Guards Combined Arms Army.” The seventh such shipment was sent on Nov. 1 “to the front line for fighters of the 2nd Guards Combined Arms Army.” The publication does not, however, establish that the Nov. 16 shipment containing Metro products was intended specifically for that military formation.

At the time the food was donated, Russia’s Metro Cash & Carry LLC was wholly owned by the German group. Metro AG’s annual report for the 2021-2022 fiscal year listed the Russian company among the group’s entities, with 100% ownership. The Samara Public Chamber publication does not make clear who at Metro authorized the free transfer of goods or whether the assistance was coordinated with the central management of the Russian subsidiary or Metro AG. Company representatives did not publicly comment. The publication also did not specify how the company had participated in earlier aid drives.

Metro condemned Russia’s invasion while its Ukrainian unit gave more than 1,000 tons of goods to the AFU

After Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Metro AG publicly condemned the attack while nevertheless maintaining its Russian business, citing responsibility for around 10,000 employees in addition to its customers. In February 2023, group CEO Steffen Greubel said Metro’s position had not changed and that the group condemned Russia’s war against Ukraine “without any ifs or buts.” He also said Metro employees in Ukraine were supplying food to civilians and the military.

On its official website, Metro says its Ukrainian subsidiary made daily donations to military units, hospitals, and nonprofit organizations. From Feb. 24, 2022, through Sept. 30, 2023, it donated 833 metric tons of food, 128 metric tons of hygiene and household goods, and 77 metric tons of other products to the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU). In total, Metro Ukraine provided 1,038 metric tons of goods to the military.

Major Metro customer said it sent food to Luhansk

The Insider identified another episode linking purchases from Metro’s Russian business to work in Russian-occupied Ukrainian territory. It is described in records from a tax dispute involving RBK StroyInvest LLC that was considered by arbitration courts in Moscow in 2026.

A ruling by the Ninth Arbitration Court of Appeal shows that in 2021 and 2022, RBK StroyInvest purchased goods from Metro Cash & Carry LLC. According to the ruling, Metro itself provided the tax authorities with delivery documents during an audit. Those documents showed that the company sold instant coffee, tea, chips, chewing gum, toffee, chocolate candies, Fruittella, and Mentos to RBK StroyInvest.

The buyer told the court that food purchased from Metro and Russian retailer Lenta was used to feed employees working in Russian-occupied Luhansk. RBK StroyInvest also said it had carried out reconstruction work, built protective and fortification structures, and reinforced trenches in the so-called Luhansk People’s Republic “as part of the special military operation,” the Kremlin’s official term for the war in Ukraine.

The company submitted transportation contracts from Moscow dated between August and October 2022 and said food was shipped to Luhansk along with equipment, materials, and workers. Court records indicate that in 2021 and 2022, RBK StroyInvest claimed 34.5 million rubles in value-added tax ($415,500) related to transactions with Metro, with most of the amount tied to 2022. The court, however, found that it had not been proven the food was actually transported to Luhansk, rather than to a different destination.

Ukraine put Metro on its list of “international sponsors of war” in 2023

In February 2023, Ukraine’s National Agency on Corruption Prevention added Metro Cash & Carry to what was then its list of “international sponsors of war.” The agency said the main reason was the company’s decision to continue doing business in Russia after the invasion.

Putin placed Metro’s Russian business under “temporary management”

On Sept. 28, 2026, Vladimir Putin placed Metro’s Russian assets under the temporary management of JSC UK Torg RUS. The assets included Metro Cash & Carry LLC, Metro Warehouse Noginsk LLC, and Retail Property 5 LLC.

Following the decree, the German group said it formally remained the owner of the Russian business but had lost operational control over it. UK Torg RUS had been registered just 20 days before Putin issued the decree.

The Insider and Le Monde previously investigated a similar case involving a different foreign retailer that remained in Russia. After the full-scale invasion began, the Russian operations of French supermarket chain Auchan supplied goods to Russian troops in occupied Ukrainian territories under the guise of “humanitarian aid.” The shipments included both goods taken from the chain’s warehouses and products collected by volunteers directly at Auchan stores in various Russian regions.

Correspondent Ivan Blagoy received the Order of Friendship. He authored a widely known 2016 report about “Lisa,” a girl in Germany who was allegedly abducted and sexually assaulted by immigrants. German police later established that she had neither been abducted nor raped.

Kirill Brainin received the Order of Honor. The Insider has also repeatedly debunked his reports, including stories about the Skripal poisoning case and a claim that Lithuanian President Dalia Grybauskaite had cooperated with the KGB.

Putin also awarded the Order of Friendship to Dimitri Simes, host of the program The Great Game. Simes is under sanctions imposed by Canada and Ukraine. He also faces criminal charges in the United States, where the Justice Department alleges that he continued working for Channel One after American sanctions were imposed on the network — receiving more than $1 million, a chauffeured car, and money for housing in Moscow. He is charged with violating sanctions and money laundering.

Also on the list was Yekaterina Berezovskaya, an anchor of the flagship news program Vremya. In March 2022, she presented a group of people who had traveled to Russian-occupied Ukrainian territory as Western journalists who were prepared to “look the truth in the eye.” The Insider later found that the group included a pro-Kremlin activist, an anti-vaccine conspiracy theorist, and a person linked to entities associated with Wagner Group co-founder and “troll farm” operator Yevgeny Prigozhin. Berezovsky is under Ukrainian sanctions.

In all, Putin’s decree granted state awards to 51 Channel One employees:

• Order “For Merit to the Fatherland,” 4th Class: Channel One Deputy Director General Tatyana Garanina and host Yury Simonov.
• Order of Honor: commentator Kirill Brainin.
• Order of Friendship: Sergei Andreyev, Ivan Blagoy, Alexei Kaskov, Dmitry Simes, Maxim Sharafutdinov, and Pyotr Shepin.
• Medal of the Order “For Merit to the Fatherland,” 1st Class: Yekaterina Berezovskaya, Roman Budnikov, Konstantin Vavilov, Maria Vasilyeva, Yelena Demidova, Grigory Yemelyanov, Svetlana Zeynalova, Yulia Zimina, Valeria Korablyova, Larisa Krymova, Yelena Lapshina, Olga Masliy, Yekaterina Mtsituridze, Anton Nenashev, Dmitry Orlov, Tatyana Pirogova, Timur Solovyov, Rustam Suleimankhil, Sergei Tugushev, Andrei Ukharev, Yulia Fatyukhina and Olga Chernosvitova.
• Medal of the Order “For Merit to the Fatherland,” 2nd Class: Sergei Arkhipov, Sergei Babayev, Ilya Bulavinov, Anton Volsky, Olga Vorontsova, Alyona Germanova, Roman Gutzeit, Alexander Dudkin, Alexei Zotov, Denis Kazansky, Alexander Kosygin, Olesya Loseva, Irina Muromtseva, Dmitry Popkov, Denis Ratov, Pavel Rudakov, Alexander Smola, Andrei Stolyarov, Valery Shein, and Yelena Shtokolova.

It was the second mass award ceremony for Channel One employees this month. Under a Sept. 3 decree, Putin honored another 28 of the network’s employees, including Deputy Director General Natalya Nikonova, department heads Sergei Sokolov and Svetlana Kolosova, sports commentators Vladimir Gomelsky and Viktor Gusev, host Arina Sharapova, and chief producer of music and entertainment programming Yury Aksyuta.

Say itself said it would release information about the concerts on Wednesday, Sept. 30. “No earlier and no later — be patient,” the agency wrote on its Telegram channel. St. Petersburg’s Gazprom Arena, where West’s concerts had been scheduled for Oct. 10 and 11, last commented on the shows on Sept. 4. At the time, stadium representatives said no concerts by foreign artists were planned at the arena in October.

The day before, Russian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova spoke out against holding the concert, saying Kanye West had been “glorifying Nazism” for several years (on May 8, 2025, the rapper released a music video praising Adolf Hitler). Zakharova also said the organizers had not filed an application for the event with Russia’s Culture Ministry, adding that they were “either simply unprofessional or this is some kind of provocation.”

According to the Kremlin-aligned publication RBC, West’s concerts in Russia had the backing of “several Kremlin officials,” but they did not coordinate the event with local authorities in St. Petersburg or personally with governor Alexander Beglov. City officials then sought clarification from Moscow, and by then questions had arisen among Kremlin officials regarding the musician’s verbal support for Hitler.

Tickets had been expected to cost from 9,000 rubles (just over $100) to 160,000 rubles (close to $1,900). In August, the concert received support from Elena Drapeko, first deputy chair of the State Duma’s Culture Committee. At the time, she said she hoped Kanye had “changed his mind and changed his attitude toward both Hitler and Russia.”

Ye began drawing widespread criticism and condemnation in recent years after he began making antisemitic remarks and voicing admiration for Adolf Hitler. In early 2025, in a series of posts on X, Ye openly called himself a Nazi. He later released a song titled “Heil Hitler” (along with a companion title, “WW3,” which similarly glorified Hitler) and also offered a $20 white T-shirt printed with a swastika and the code "HH-01" for sale on his website (which he also advertised at Super Bowl LIX).

Several of Ye’s European performances were canceled in 2026, including those scheduled in the UK and Poland. Britain blocked West from traveling to the country in April (when he was scheduled to headline London’s Wireless Festival) due to his antisemitic comments and celebration of Nazism. Several weeks later, the Swiss football club Basel also refused to host his concert at its stadium, St. Jakob-Park, saying the event was incompatible with the organization’s values.

West has issued apologies to the Jewish community on several occasions, most recently taking out a full-page advertisement in the Wall Street Journal in January 2026. In the ad, he said he had “lost touch with reality” and attributed his behavior to an undiagnosed brain injury from a 2002 car accident, along with untreated bipolar disorder

"I regret and am deeply mortified by my actions in that state, and am committed to accountability, treatment, and meaningful change. It does not excuse what I did, though. I am not a Nazi or an antisemite. I love Jewish people," he added.

Yabloko’s press service reported the petty hooliganism charges against Rybakov on Sept. 29. His case is being heard by the Vyborgsky District Court of St. Petersburg.

On Sept. 20, Rybakov voted at polling station No. 360 in St. Petersburg. None of the four ballots he was given included Yabloko or its candidates. The politician invalidated the ballots by writing “For peace,” “For freedom,” “For a ceasefire agreement,” and “For a life without fear.”

Rybakov had already done something similar in the September 2022 elections. At the time, according to photos published by the party, he wrote “I vote for peace” on his ballot before placing it in the box.

At least five such cases emerged in 2022

Some of the first known cases initiated over writing on ballots emerged during regional elections in September 2022.

In Moscow, Lev Karmanov drew a peace dove and wrote “No to war” on his ballot. Election commission members would not let him put the sheet into the electronic ballot scanner and offered him a new ballot instead while leaving the first one on the administrators’ table. Police detained Karmanov after he left the polling station, and the Chertanovsky District Court ultimately fined him 50,000 rubles ($600) for “discrediting the armed forces” — a ruling later upheld by the Moscow City Court.

The court found the message to be public, since the ballot is handed to commission members and later counted. In the ruling, it was thus stated that Karmanov “publicly displayed” a ballot with the message “No to war.”

That same day, in Veliky Novgorod, police filed a “discrediting” report against Anton Bochanov, who also wrote an antiwar phrase on his ballot before dropping it into a transparent ballot box. According to police, the message ended up facing outward and was visible to commission members and other voters.

In Kirov, a similar citation was filed against Natalia Ryabova, whose ballot bore the messages “Glory to Ukraine” and “Russia will be free,” along with an obscene phrase about Vladimir Putin. Additionally, media outlets reported on another administrative case concerning Moscow polling station No. 1936 in Orekhovo-Borisovo, where a voter left an anti-war slogan on their ballot.

Another case arose in 2022 in Aramil, Sverdlovsk Region, where art teacher Darya Sergeyeva wrote “No to war,” “Glory to Ukraine,” “Put Putin on trial,” and other phrases on her ballot while also drawing a peace dove and the Ukrainian flag. Commission members contacted the police. In November, Sergeyeva was fined 15,000 rubles ($180) for “discrediting the armed forces.”

The Insider found at least five episodes of administrative prosecutions over writing and drawings on ballots in 2022 alone.

Another six cases in 2024

The practice continued in the presidential election in March 2024. St. Petersburg resident Alexandra Chiriatyeva wrote “No to war” in red marker on the back of her ballot, and the Dzerzhinsky District Court charged her with two offenses at once: petty hooliganism and “discrediting the army.” Chiriatyeva was sentenced to eight days of arrest and fined 40,000 rubles ($480). A statement from St. Petersburg’s joint court press service claimed that by writing on the ballot, Chiriatyeva had “damaged state property.”

Another case emerged in Simferopol, where a woman wrote “No to war,” “Against human deaths,” and “Ukraine will win” on her ballot. The Central District Court of Simferopol fined her 40,000 rubles ($480) under the article on “discrediting” the army.

In Podolsk, near Moscow, Maria Alekseyeva was detained over writing on her ballot and charged with the same offense, after which the Podolsk City Court fined her 30,000 rubles ($360).

In Bratsk, Alexander Shokhirev wrote “No to war” and “Glory to Ukraine” on his ballot, photographed it, and then dropped it into a transparent ballot box. The Bratsk City Court found him guilty both of “discrediting” the army and of displaying banned symbols. He was sentenced to 12 days of administrative arrest.

A man from Dubna, Moscow Region, made a social media post featuring a photo of his ballot, which had been spoiled with the caption “No to war.” The Dubna City Court fined him 30,000 rubles ($360) for “discrediting” the army. In his case, the grounds for the charge were not just the message itself but also the posting of the ballot photo online.

Another case occurred during St. Petersburg’s regional elections in September 2024. Election observer Marina Popova dropped a ballot marked “No to war” into the box and was cited under two articles: petty hooliganism and “discrediting” the army. The Kuibyshevsky District Court sentenced Popova to five days of arrest and a 30,000-ruble ($360) fine.

The judge initially sent the citations back to police for revision, noting that the law does not provide for standalone liability for damaging a ballot. The following day, a different judge found Popova guilty after members of the election commission argued at the hearing that the ballot was state property and had been damaged.

In total, The Insider found at least six such episodes in 2024.

In 2026, ballot cases have already led to arrests

Besides Rybakov’s case, at least two more incidents are known from the September 2026 elections.

Stanislav Morozov, a blogger from Penza, posted a video of himself filling out ballots: on one, he wrote an obscene phrase about Vladimir Putin, and on another he crossed out the name United Russia and added a separate obscene message. The Pervomaisky District Court of Penza sentenced him to 14 days of arrest for petty hooliganism — the same article of the administrative code applied to Rybakov. The court’s published materials did not specify which of Morozov’s actions was deemed petty hooliganism.

In Vladimir, Alexander Stepanov wrote on his ballot: “No to war! For peace!” The slogan was noticed after the ballot ended up in a transparent ballot box. The Frunzensky District Court of Vladimir fined Stepanov 30,000 rubles ($360) for “discrediting” the army.

The Insider’s count of 14 such cases since 2022 excludes incidents in which people were only detained but no record of citation could be found, as well as detentions in which the report was filed solely over other actions, such as resisting police.

In at least three previous cases — those of Chiriatyeva, Popova, and Morozov — law enforcement used the same Part 1 of Article 20.1 of the Code of Administrative Offenses on petty hooliganism that is now being applied against Rybakov. The maximum penalty under this article is 15 days of administrative arrest.

Yabloko’s federal party list was removed from the State Duma race on Aug. 10 after internal polling appeared to show support for the anti-war party growing rapidly. Party leaders then urged supporters to invalidate their ballots by marking more than one box. By the start of voting, courts had also removed nearly 30% of Yabloko’s single-mandate candidates, The Insider calculated.

The Ukrainian “X zgori OSINT” Telegram channel first drew attention to a series of posts put out by the Russian Ministry of Defense, and The Insider independently reviewed them. At least 24 posts about recruiting events were identified over the past six months, including 13 in June alone.

The format is nearly identical everywhere: schoolchildren and students are introduced to drones, then take part in a video link with the front, where a service member (sometimes a former student who has already signed a contract) describes military service. The audience is then told about payments, benefits, the possibility of taking academic leave, and career prospects after leaving the army. The Defense Ministry’s posts end with a link to the recruitment website and a direct invitation to sign a contract.

From a drone lesson to a contract offer

On March 24, service members from Russia’s Sever (lit. “North”) grouping of forces held an open lesson for schoolchildren in the Kursk Region. The Defense Ministry itself described the purpose of the class as “military-patriotic education and career guidance.”

The lesson was led by combat-experienced specialists from the Unmanned Systems Forces. Students were shown different types of drones, told about their design and specifications, and taught how they are used in combat.

The ministry’s post ended as a military recruitment advertisement: “Interested in unmanned systems? Contract service in the Unmanned Systems Forces is the choice for you.” It then listed a recruitment website and hotline number.

With university and college students, the ministry often uses a different approach: service is described by peers who themselves were recently students before taking academic leave and signing military contracts. For example, the main participant in a video link with students at the Ural State University of Physical Culture was 23-year-old Denis Mavlyutov, who had been a student at the same university. He took academic leave, signed a contract with the Russian military, underwent training, and began serving in an FPV drone crew with the 80th Guards Tank Regiment. Mavlyutov had traveled from the front to a rear area specifically to tell students about the work of drone operators — including service conditions, benefits, and pay.

In Irkutsk, second-year Baikal State University student Nikita Shipachev spoke to fellow students after taking academic leave and going to war, and in Samara, young service members from different Russian regions who had also interrupted their studies to sign contracts joined a video call. They spoke about combat missions, drone operations, daily life at the front, and the enlistment process.

Similar events have been held in the Chelyabinsk, Irkutsk, Samara, Belgorod, Orenburg, Voronezh, Penza, and Krasnodar regions, as well as Altai Krai, Zabaykalsky Krai, Stavropol Krai, the republics of Buryatia and Udmurtia, and Moscow. Another meeting was held with students at Luhansk State University in Russian-occupied Ukrainian territory.

“The guys thought there was some kind of catch”

A separate part of the campaign focuses on contract terms and concerns among potential recruits.

Yegor, a student at the Voronezh State Academy of Sports who became a drone operator, told classmates how he manages to combine military service with pursuing a university degree.

“The guys thought there was some kind of catch, but there’s no catch,” the Defense Ministry quoted him as saying.

The ministry’s publications tell potential contract soldiers about pay, clothing and equipment allowances, social benefits, and bonuses for destroying Ukrainian military equipment. Service is also marketed as a way to gain professional skills that could be useful after returning to civilian life.

Vladimir Gorovenko, a student at Altai State Technical University, signed a contract during his second year of study. In a Defense Ministry publication, he said drone piloting skills could be useful in civilian life for photographing historical buildings and creating 3D models of them.

At the same time, students are openly told about the combat use of drones. They are shown drones used at the front, allowed to try controlling them in simulators, and shown footage of combat operations.

From promotional videos to a university campaign

The Insider reported on student recruitment into the Unmanned Systems Forces in May. At the time, the Defense Ministry and the affiliated Telegram channel “Heroes of the Special Operation Z” began publishing similarly styled videos about young people who had interrupted their studies to sign contracts and join the Russian military.

One of those featured was 21-year-old Mikhail Guzanov, a student at Don State Technical University. The Defense Ministry presented his story as the fulfillment of a “long-held dream of flying.”

“The most exciting part is flying real ones. It’s an incredible feeling! You soar like a bird,” Guzanov said of operating drones.

Another student at the same university, Alexander Rybasov, appeared in a video titled “From Game Developer to Real Combat.” He was studying programming and said his interest in FPV drones came from military video games.

Another video was titled “He Was a Student, and Became a Drone Operator.” It featured Nikolai Ivanov, a student at Tomsk Polytechnic University.

“I just up and left one day, signed a contract, and then filled out the paperwork for academic leave remotely,” he said.

Ivanov said he had been an honors student in his second year but decided to go to war because “the motherland needs young, quick-thinking specialists.” All three said they planned to return to their studies after their contracts ended.

“Some even decided they wanted to sign a contract”

Now the recruitment appeals in Defense Ministry posts have become even more direct. On Sept. 18, the ministry reported on a video link with students at the Krasnodar College of Electronic Instrument Engineering. Their former classmate, Nikolai Bondarenko — who had taken academic leave to sign a contract and go to war with the unmanned systems forces — joined the call. 

Bondarenko spoke about daily life, military service, and training for drone operators while emphasizing that the specialty would also be in demand in civilian life.

“The guys were pleased with the meeting, and some even decided they wanted to sign a contract,” the Defense Ministry said.

Immediately afterward, the ministry posted its standard appeal: “Serve under contract in the Unmanned Systems Forces — operate drones,” along with the recruitment website and hotline number.

During another videolink session, Vadim Fitisov, a student at the Ust-Kut Institute of Water Transport, told students in Siberia that he had become interested in drones after watching news reports and videos. He took academic leave and spent nine months serving as an operator responsible for collecting and processing information received from drone operators at the front.

The Defense Ministry emphasized that Fitisov’s contract was about to expire but that he had decided to extend it, adding that Fitisov plans to return to the institute “after the special military operation is completed,” using the Kremlin’s official term for the war in Ukraine.

The defense and education ministries discussed student recruitment

The campaign is not limited to initiatives by individual military units and educational institutions.

The Defense Ministry held an interagency meeting with representatives of the Science and Higher Education Ministry, the Education Ministry, university administrators, and school officials to discuss conditions for recruiting students into the Unmanned Systems Forces and measures to provide them with social support.

Before the active advertising campaign began, the military specifically emphasized that students should sign such contracts voluntarily.

One of the main promises made to potential recruits is that they will serve specifically in the Unmanned Systems Forces. The Defense Ministry says the special contract is signed for a period of at least one year and that service members cannot be transferred to another unit without their consent. One ministry publication states explicitly: “Service takes place strictly in Unmanned Systems Forces units; without the service member’s consent, they cannot be transferred to another unit.”

At least one recruited student was killed days after reaching the front line

As the recruitment campaign continued, reports began emerging of students trained as drone operators being killed.

In May, The Insider, citing the BBC, reported the first confirmed death. Valery Averin, 23, from Buryatia, was in his final year at the Buryat Republican Technical College of Construction and Industrial Technologies. In January, he signed a contract with the Russian Ministry of Defense and completed three months of training as a drone operator. His training ended in late March. On April 2, Averin called his foster mother for the last time and said he was being sent somewhere with “no communications.” On April 6, he was killed in a mortar attack near Luhansk in eastern Ukraine.

His foster mother, Oksana Afanasyeva, said the family had expected a different kind of service. “The boy spent three months training how to fly drones, and then they sent him into an assault, into the worst meat grinder,” she said.

The available information does not establish whether Averin was in fact transferred to an assault unit.

Pro-war blogger Anastasia Kashevarova has repeatedly reported that manpower shortages have led Russian forces to transfer specialists, including drone operators, into assault units. She said some of those reassigned operators were killed on their first mission.

“The plane crashed in a remote area. According to preliminary data, six crew members were killed, and one was injured and evacuated to a medical facility,” the ministry said.

The Telegram channel Mash, widely believed to be tied to Russia’s security services, was among the sources which had earlier reported that the aircraft was a military Tu-154 that crashed several minutes after takeoff near the village of Krasnoyarovo. Preliminary reports said seven people were on board — four crew members and three passengers. After the crash, the transport aircraft’s fuel tanks exploded and the plane caught fire. In the end, six people lost their lives as a result, including two soldiers who died on the way to the hospital.

The government of the Amur Region later came out with a statement saying the crew steered the plane away from residential areas in order to avoid causing further casualties:

“A Tu-95 military aircraft made an emergency landing near Krasnoyarovo during a training flight. The crew did everything possible to steer the aircraft away from residential buildings,” the statement said.

The Telegram channel Baza reported that the sole survivor was hospitalized with moderate injuries. The channel said the aircraft belonged to the Ukrainka air group and suggested a fuel explosion may have caused the crash. That version of events has not been officially confirmed.

Kremlin-aligned newspaper Kommersant later reported that the crash occurred five minutes after takeoff and that a criminal case had been opened under Article 351 of Russia’s Criminal Code, which covers violations of flight or flight-preparation rules.

On June 15, a Tu-22M3 bomber crashed in the Irkutsk Region while approaching for landing. The Defense Ministry said the aircraft had been on a training flight without weapons and that the crew had ejected. Irkutsk Region governor Igor Kobzev announced that the preliminary cause of the crash was engine failure.

Kallas said Russia has increased its support for acts of sabotage inside the EU, violated the bloc’s airspace, and carried out other provocations that require a faster response. At a Sept. 28 meeting, EU defense ministers held their first ever substantive discussion regarding an urgent consultation mechanism that would allow member states to coordinate their response to a particular threat, she said. The proposed emergency security protocol is intended to help the EU respond more quickly to Russian hybrid attacks while complementing existing NATO mechanisms. 

Politico reported that European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen had previously backed such a protocol, framing it as Europe’s “own version” of NATO’s Article 4, a provision that allows any NATO member to request immediate consultations with allies if it believes its security is under threat. Kallas said the EU mechanism should cover actions that fall “under the armed aggression threshold.”

Petar Tanev, an expert on EU policy, told The Insider that rising Russian hybrid threats have created a need for an additional mechanism that would allow the EU to respond quickly and in a coordinated way to provocations in Europe. NATO procedures alone, he explained, are no longer sufficient for the bloc’s needs.

“The speed of decision-making is also part of our defense. Drones over Poland and Romania, a drone shot down in Lithuania, Russian provocations in the Baltic region — all of this requires a more decisive response. In my view, Moscow is testing our readiness to defend ourselves and act together. We need to prepare seriously for the risk of further escalation, especially in the Baltic region. Europe needs pre-agreed actions and the ability to quickly come to the aid of a country facing a threat. This is where I see a direct connection with a European Security Council — a proposal we developed and promoted together with European Parliament member Sergey Lagodinsky.

The protocol can be compared to an alarm button: one country reports a threat, and the others come together to coordinate a joint response. It could also provide permanent political coordination involving Britain, Ukraine and other partners in close connection with NATO.”

Discussions in the EU about the need for a coordinated response to hybrid attacks intensified after an incident in Germany in early August, when a drone equipped with a detonator was found at Leipzig airport near a Ukrainian transport plane. Berlin accused Moscow of organizing the attack and closed the Russian House in Berlin and Russia’s consulate general in Bonn in response to the incident. In mid-September, Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk said Russia was planning “hybrid” drone and missile attacks against countries supporting Ukraine, including NATO member Poland.

The fire broke out at the Estonian manufacturer’s building on the night of Aug. 14. Milrem Robotics develops unmanned military ground vehicles, some of which are used in Ukraine. No one was injured, and the company later said the incident had not affected production or deliveries.

Three people suspected of carrying out the arson were later detained in Latvia and were identified as Latvian citizens. At the time, Estonian Prime Minister Kristen Michal said investigators were examining possible Russian involvement.

The Estonian government has now publicly confirmed that assessment. Foreign Minister Margus Tsahkna said the fire was an act of sabotage ordered by Russian intelligence services:

“Based on the information collected by the Estonian Internal Security Service we can conclude with certainty that the arson attack on Milrem Robotics premises that took place on the night of 14–15 August in Tallinn was an act of sabotage ordered by the special services of the Russian Federation. 

This act of sabotage is part of Russia’s broader campaign across Europe, aimed at intimidating us and weakening our support for Ukraine. Our response will be the opposite. We will increase both our support for Ukraine and the pressure on Russia to end its aggression.”

The Kremlin has rejected the allegations. Presidential spokesman Dmitry Peskov called them “unfounded” and “ill-considered.”

The governor’s administration was formally assigned the new responsibility via Kamchatka regional government Resolution No. 471-P, dated Sept. 24, which was reviewed by The Insider. The administration’s regulations were amended to include “supporting the activities of the regional segment of the operational headquarters of the Unified National Center, which coordinates activities in response to threats of attacks using unmanned aerial vehicles in the Kamchatka Region.”

The resolution itself does not create the regional headquarters. Its wording indicates that the governor’s administration is instead being assigned responsibility for supporting its work. The Insider did not find a separate publicly available regional document establishing a separate HQ for Kamchatka.

A week before the resolution was adopted, Kamchatka governor Vladimir Solodov visited Russia’s Tula Region, where he examined systems designed to protect civilian infrastructure from drones. Following the trip, the local government in Kamchatka said the region would purchase radar equipment made in Tula to protect energy and fuel facilities from UAV attacks.

“Kamchatka is a strategically important region where readiness must be ensured to respond to any threats and emergency situations,” the regional administration said at the time. The authorities explained that they intended to use Tula’s experience while developing their own system for protecting critical infrastructure.

Similar regional systems operate elsewhere in Russia and have responsibilities beyond administrative coordination. In Khakassia — a region in southern Siberia — authorities used reserve funds to establish a segment equipped with communications systems, computing hardware, and specialized software for secure data sharing and coordination with emergency services.

In North Ossetia, the regional headquarters has broader powers, including identifying sites that require drone protection, organizing detection and interception systems, developing infrastructure protection plans, and coordinating agencies involved in countering attacks.

Kamchatka’s published documents, however, cite no specific or imminent threat to the peninsula. They show only that the region is preparing for the possibility of drone attacks. 

Later, the attackers explained to journalists that because of the revolution, tourists had almost stopped coming to the Egyptian capital. As a result, the Bedouins, who made their living giving tourists camel and mule rides along the roads of the world’s most famous necropolis, were left without income and could no longer support their families or feed their animals. The Bedouins hoped that breaking up the protest on Tahrir Square would calm things down and bring tourists back to the pyramids at Giza.

“Virginity tests” for protesters

At around the same time, the military was setting up torture chambers and special “medical rooms” in the famous Egyptian Museum — just a few hundred meters from the main revolutionary camp on Tahrir Square. At the Museum, intelligence officers carried out so-called “virginity tests” — sexualized violence against female protesters, who were forced to undergo gynecological examinations in public.

State propaganda at the time claimed that the women taking part in the revolution were all, without exception, prostitutes, and that the “virginity tests” were meant to prove this. But the public did not believe the state-sponsored stories, so the authorities tried to walk it back — claimed the tests were carried out solely to confirm that the detainees had not been subjected to sexual violence by soldiers or police, arguing that the revolutionaries were making baseless accusations of rape against security forces and that it was necessary to prove those accusations false.

The job of saying so publicly went to one of the generals leading the crackdown on the protests: Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. This was the first time many Western journalists heard his name.

According to one theory, it was el-Sisi himself who allowed the armed Bedouins onto Tahrir Square, since at the time he headed the country’s branch of military intelligence, which was responsible for carrying out acts of sabotage and provocation, among other things. However, it has never been definitively proven that el-Sisi personally issued the order.

What is not disputed is the fact that, in 2011, the general failed to live up to the expectations that then-President Hosni Mubarak had placed on him — he was unable to crush the revolution, which toppled the regime and led to Egypt’s first-ever democratic presidential election. But Mohamed Morsi, the Muslim Brotherhood Islamist who won that vote, saw a kindred spirit in the relatively young (he was 56 in 2011) and conspicuously devout general. It was Morsi who appointed el-Sisi as commander-in-chief of the armed forces. 

Just two years later, in 2013, el-Sisi would “repay” Morsi for that trust by overthrowing him and sending him to prison for life. The list of charges against Morsi was seemingly endless, but at the top of it was treason. Egypt’s first — and, so far, only — democratically elected president died behind bars in 2019.

El-Sisi, who took Morsi’s seat soon after his overthrow, presented himself as the savior of the nation. According to the military command’s version of events, he had saved Egypt from Islamist terrorists who had propelled their own man, Morsi, into power. Ever since, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi has ruled the country through propaganda about “revolutionary prostitutes,” mockery of the opposition, and outright violence.

Brother against “Brother”

On Aug. 14, 2026, the World Coalition of Egyptians Abroad published an appeal to the authorities in Cairo calling for the release of political prisoners and an investigation into the circumstances under which thousands of people had been jailed for their personal views. The appeal was backed by the Association of Families of Egyptian Political Prisoners and by the International Association of Families of Political Prisoners, which was founded in London that very week.

The date was not chosen at random. It was on Aug. 14, 2013, that Mohamed Morsi’s rule in the country came to an end. That July, Morsi and his entourage were taken into custody by soldiers under el-Sisi’s command. State television ran round-the-clock footage of the arrests of the country’s top officials and their supporters, captioned: “Egypt is fighting terrorism.” The deposed president was declared an agent of Hamas and Hezbollah, and his followers were branded accomplices of terrorists. Those followers had set up a protest camp on Rabaa Square, demanding the president’s release.

On Aug. 14, the military destroyed the camp with extraordinary brutality. At dawn, soldiers opened fire with automatic weapons against the sleeping camp residents. Armored vehicles and bulldozers were then sent in to raze the protesters’ tent city. At least 817 people died that day (Egyptian authorities themselves acknowledged 638 deaths). Thousands ended up behind bars. They were later joined by tens of thousands more, detained in raids on opposition party headquarters, in apartments, and in mosques.

Most of those arrested 13 years ago remain behind bars, many still awaiting trial. The Morsi supporters rounded up in the summer and fall of 2013 are the demographic that makes Egypt the world leader in political prisoners.

The Morsi supporters rounded up in 2013 made Egypt the world leader in political prisoners

Still, new prisoners are constantly being added as Egyptian authorities wage a genuine war on those they deem to be religious extremists (above all, followers of the Muslim Brotherhood movement, which Morsi himself came from). Every year, hundreds more people are put behind bars, often on unfounded charges of terrorism or espionage. According to human rights organizations, Egypt holds between 50,000 and 70,000 political prisoners.

For years, Egypt was second on the list of countries with the largest numbers of political prisoners — behind only Bashar al-Assad’s Syria, which had sent more than 130,000 people to prison on political grounds. However, after Assad’s overthrow in 2024, the new authorities in Damascus emptied entire prison complexes, granting Egypt the lead in this shameful contest.

Incidentally, Egypt also has prison compounds built specifically for political prisoners. The most notorious is Scorpion Prison, which holds 2,000 people and was specifically designed so that sunlight never reaches the cells. But deprivation of vitamin D is just one — and probably the most innocuous — form of torture faced by its inmates.

Human rights reports state that Egypt’s political prison complexes are overcrowded and lack adequate medical care. Poor food, non-functioning ventilation, and prison staff brutality often lead to mass hunger strikes and suicide attempts. Among those who have tried to take their own lives because of abuse suffered in confinement was Mohamed Morsi’s nephew, arrested in 2022 without any justification.

Not all political prisoners in the country are Islamists. The prisons also hold members of democratic movements who actively opposed Mohamed Morsi and staged mass protests against the unconstitutional actions of Egypt’s first popularly elected president. In 2013, they demanded that Morsi abandon his attempts to appropriate parliamentary powers for himself.

Paradoxically, it was the actions of democratic groups like the April 6 Youth Movement that gave el-Sisi a pretext to arrest Morsi and take his place. As a result, in 2013–2014 many of these democrats ended up behind bars, charged with participating in the activities of banned parties and movements. Thousands of detainees remain in prison to this day.

Man of the hour

It was also in 2013–2014 that it became clear el-Sisi was preparing for a long personalist rule. The new authorities set about building the aforementioned prison complexes (officially called “correction and rehabilitation centers”), which were clearly intended for political opponents. Sure enough, dissidents began to be arrested en masse based on even the slightest suspicion of disloyalty.

Then a campaign was launched to transform the little-known figure of el-Sisi into Egypt’s leading man — an irreplaceable, wise ruler without whom the country would be doomed to collapse. The construction of the general’s personality cult began before his presidency — even before he announced his intention to run for the top office. Just days after the Rabaa massacre, the streets of Cairo and other cities were decorated with giant portraits of el-Sisi bearing captions like “Conqueror of terrorism” or even “Lion of the nation.” Street vendors — whether picking up on the trend or acting on direct orders from the military — pulled T-shirts and other souvenirs commemorating the 2011 revolution from their stalls. New merchandise soon appeared in its place — this time bearing the portrait of the “savior general.”

The biggest musical hit in the summer of 2013 was a song by pop artist (and head of the musicians’ union) Mostafa Kamel, glorifying the heroism of the army and el-Sisi personally. The general is never named in the song — instead, it features an anonymous “hero” who “will sacrifice everything for the homeland.” Still, to make sure everyone understood exactly who was being described, the music video for the song cuts to el-Sisi every few seconds. As of today, 13 years after its release, the video has 38 million views.

In state and semi-state media, el-Sisi was called “blessed” and “long-awaited.” His looks were compared to the pharaohs of antiquity — his strength to Greek gods and heroes. Within a matter of weeks, a petition calling on el-Sisi to run for president gathered millions of signatures.

Over the years since Mohamed Morsi’s overthrow, his successor’s personality cult has evolved further. The Sisi-mania of 2013–2014, which at times took on comical forms, is now tightly controlled. Stories about saving the homeland and heroic battles against terrorists have given way to reports that presidential oversight is doing wonders for the economy, that from the very start of his rule el-Sisi has shown a “modern vision of statehood,” and that he governs Egypt skillfully and confidently, with the full approval of all Egyptians.

In state propaganda, the president remains, as ever, Egypt’s sole hope and mainstay. However, today, el-Sisi is portrayed less like a military superman and more like a merely visionary official.  After all, the state no longer dares to irritate people with fairy-tale stories about an all-powerful el-Sisi at a time when Egypt is going through one of the most severe economic crises in its modern history.

Old friends, new enemies

El-Sisi has tried-and-tested methods for dealing with those unhappy with his presidency: torture, blackmail, intimidation. He has used this arsenal even against people who considered themselves the president’s associates and allies.

In 2018, a military tribunal sent Egypt’s former chief of staff Sami Anan to prison for announcing his readiness to run against el-Sisi, who was then seeking a second term. Anan spent nearly two years behind bars on charges of violating military statutes, and since his release has led a quiet life, making no attempt to return to politics.

Another prominent military figure, Air Marshal Ahmed Shafik, made it to the second round of the country’s first-ever democratic election in 2012, losing to Morsi by just a few percentage points. In 2018, Shafik withdrew his candidacy after Morsi’s people showed him documents allegedly proving his involvement in Mubarak-era corruption schemes. The compromising material also included several intimate videos of the marshal, filmed by hidden cameras installed in his bedroom.

However, these methods have not helped shore up el-Sisi’s popularity — a fact that presents a major challenge for the general-president. In 2023, on the eve of el-Sisi’s reelection to a third term, protests swept across Egypt, with participants demanding the president’s resignation and even burning posters bearing his photo. People were driven to protest by inflation, unemployment, and the authorities’ indifference to the fate of their neighbors in the Gaza Strip, who had become hostages of the war between Israel and Hamas.

People were driven to protest by inflation, unemployment, and the authorities’ indifference to the fate of fellow believers in the Gaza Strip

In the past three years, these problems have only gotten worse, and people blame the person who holds the most power in the country — the president — for the catastrophic rise in prices, for the state’s default on its social obligations, and for its foreign-policy failures. In this context, el-Sisi is changing both his propaganda narratives and his strategy for political survival. No longer a president backed by mass popular support, he now leads a clique of people strong and influential enough to keep the army and security services, if not the public, under his control.

The people in uniform have become the regime’s true mainstay. El-Sisi has not merely preserved the economic system formed under Mubarak, in which the military plays a key role across a whole range of sectors — construction, banking, telecommunications, and insurance among them. He has literally turned officers into the country’s economic elite. Companies run by military officers get priority in the allocation of state contracts. They have access to preferential loans. And state auditors give them the benefit of the doubt. In addition, an abundance of free labor — conscript soldiers — makes officers’ construction firms far more profitable than those that actually have to pay wages to their workers.

On top of that, under el-Sisi officers have gained effective immunity from prosecution, pensions far higher than those for civilians, and priority access to senior government posts after leaving the service.

City of dreams

El-Sisi and his inner circle understand that if a new popular revolution were to break out — one resembling the uprising that toppled Mubarak in 2011 — they would not stand a chance against it. Western analysts put the probability of mass protests breaking out in Egypt before the end of this year at 15–20%, and even in the more-than-likely event the regime makes it to January, nothing suggests public discontent will subside anytime soon — not with the currency devaluing at a near-record pace and modest economic growth failing to lift living standards or wages.

The situation has not yet ripened into an open revolt, but much could change in the easily foreseeable future. Through manipulation of the constitution, el-Sisi has not only secured the ability to run for president an unlimited number of times, but has also extended the length of a presidential term from four to six years. The next election is due to take place in Egypt in 2030, and by then el-Sisi is supposed to move — along with his government, parliament, and security agency — to an entirely new city currently being built in the desert 45 kilometers from Cairo.

This city is still unnamed — in official documents it is called the New Administrative Capital. Officially, it is being built to relieve overcrowded Cairo and free the city of smog and endless traffic jams. But the new capital has several features that indirectly underscore the authorities’ fear of a new revolution.

For one, the city under construction has no separate neighborhoods planned for the middle class or workers (the main actors of the 2011 revolution). It has no narrow streets (only wide avenues that cannot be barricaded). Every square and plaza is designed so that any crowd gathering there could be dispersed with machine-gun fire from the roofs of nearby buildings (which are all linked by underground passages). And on top of all that, the new capital has no public transit links to Cairo or other cities.

The new nameless city will have no narrow streets — only wide avenues that cannot be barricaded

In other words, Egypt is building a new “Tahrir-proof” capital — in part with money from foreign tourists. That same money also goes toward building prisons for political prisoners, funding propaganda, and paying the salaries of security officers who blackmail and intimidate dissidents.

One could say that Egypt’s two records — for tourists and for political prisoners — are interconnected. The more people come to Egypt, and the more money they spend, the bigger the budgets available to the military and security services that guard Abdel Fattah el-Sisi’s regime.

Amur Region governor Vasily Orlov added the restrictions to an order implementing Presidential Decree No. 757, which established a “basic readiness” security level across the region. Media outlets and internet users are now barred from distributing information — including photos and videos — about Ukrainian drone incursions and their aftermath.

The ban covers information that could identify the type of drone, its launch site, location, crash site, flight path, target, and the nature of any damage it may have caused. It also prohibits publishing information about the use and effects of anti-drone measures, including air defenses and electronic warfare systems. The ban also covers information about the locations of Russian military and law enforcement units and related infrastructure.

The restrictions do not apply to publications by government agencies, law enforcement bodies, or local authorities. Other users may redistribute such information if they cite an official source.

Bans now cover almost all of Russia

The Insider reviewed regional restrictions currently in force against disseminating information about drones. The count included only cases in which regional authorities specifically banned or restricted the publication or distribution of information, photographs, or videos about military drone use and the consequences of Ukrainian attacks. Bans on launching or operating civilian drones were not included.

As of Sept. 28, 2026, such restrictions had been identified in at least 82 of the 89 federal subjects Russia claims as its territory. By comparison, at the end of August 2025, state news agency TASS counted such restrictions in only 33 regions, though by April 28, 2026, the number had risen to 64. At that point, restrictions were in force in every region of the Central, Volga, and Southern federal districts. TASS listed Moscow, the Moscow Region, the Murmansk and Kaliningrad regions, the Nenets Autonomous District, and the republics of Kabardino-Balkaria and Karachay-Cherkessia among the exceptions.

The bans, however, continued to spread. Moscow announced restrictions in May, the Krasnoyarsk Region in June, and the Omsk Region and Khakassia in July. Restrictions then appeared during the summer in the Murmansk Region and the Nenets and Yamalo-Nenets autonomous districts. The Tomsk region and Jewish Autonomous Oblast introduced bans in August, followed in September by Yakutia, Yugra (the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous District), and now the Amur Region.

In the Murmansk Region, for example, local authorities banned the distribution of information about the use and effects of drones and other weapons, including details that could identify where an object on the ground was hit and the nature of the damage. In Khakassia, the ban covers “any information” about the use and consequences of drone attacks.

In the Tomsk Region, the restrictions extend beyond attacks inside the region itself, as authorities also prohibit publishing information about drone use and its consequences in other Russian regions. Similar provisions exist elsewhere in Russia as well.

Reports of hits and damage are prohibited

The wording of regional bans is nearly identical in many cases. The most detailed regulations prohibit reporting information that could establish the type of drone, where it was launched, its flight path, its crash site, the location of an attack, the “fact that an object was hit,” and the “nature of the damage caused.”

The restrictions also cover information about air defenses and electronic warfare, the locations of military units and law enforcement forces, and critical infrastructure.

In some regions, the ban goes beyond photographs and videos, with restrictions also applying to text reports and other forms of information. That means not only a photograph of a damaged site but also a written post saying where a drone struck and what damage it caused could potentially be prohibited.

At the same time, regional regulations usually provide exemptions for official sources. In Tatarstan, for example, the ban does not apply to federal, regional, or municipal authorities, and the information they publish may be redistributed provided that the official source is cited. Similar provisions appear in a number of other regional regulations.

In August, the Anti-Terrorism Commission in the Jewish Autonomous Oblast banned the distribution of information about terrorist attacks, drone strikes, and the activities of sabotage groups unless it had previously been published by authorized agencies. The restriction also applies to photographs and videos of the aftermath.

People are fined for publishing information

The regional bans are being enforced. According to a tally by independent outlet Verstka, which reviewed court databases, at least 80 people were punished in 2025 and 2026 for publishing information about the aftermath of Ukrainian drone attacks. Of those, 75 received fines ranging from 1,000 to 30,000 rubles ($12 to $350), while courts issued warnings in five cases.

One of the most extensive enforcement efforts has taken place in the Kaluga Region. According to a report by local newspaper Argumenty i Fakty Kaluga, by late June 2026, more than 70 people and organizations had been fined a combined total of about 700,000 rubles ($8,300). Administrative charges were brought against administrators of websites, Telegram channels, and pages on the Russian social network VK, among others.

St. Petersburg issued its first fine for violating the regional ban in August 2026: a man who posted video of the aftermath of a July 24 drone attack was fined 4,000 rubles ($47). For individuals, a repeat violation in St. Petersburg carries a 5,000-ruble fine ($60); officials face fines of 30,000 to 40,000 rubles ($350 to $470), and legal entities face fines of 200,000 to 300,000 rubles ($2,350 to $3,550).

In the Orenburg Region, courts have imposed fines even when posts were later deleted. In September, a resident of Orsk was fined 5,000 rubles ($60) for posting a photograph online showing the aftermath of a drone attack. Another woman in the region was previously fined 3,000 rubles ($35) for video showing the aftermath of falling drone debris. She said she had mistaken the fire for the result of a gas boiler explosion and deleted the post once she realized what had happened.

In the Omsk Region, after a July 6 drone attack on an oil refinery, the FSB and police identified several residents who had posted videos of the strike on social media. They were charged with administrative offenses. Shortly beforehand, the regional Anti-Terrorism Commission had banned the distribution via media outlets, social networks, websites, and messaging apps of text, audio, photographic, and video material about drone use and the consequences of drone attacks.

No ban found in seven regions

The Insider found no regional ban on distributing information about drone attacks in seven federal subjects: Buryatia, Kabardino-Balkaria, Karachay-Cherkessia, the Kamchatka Region, and the Kaliningrad, Magadan, and Moscow regions. (Some of those regions do have bans on launching or operating civilian drones, but The Insider did not include such restrictions because they do not prohibit publishing information about attacks.)

However, the absence of a regional ban does not mean similar restrictions do not exist at a lower level. In the Moscow Region, for example, the city of Dubna has its own rule. On June 9, 2025, the city district’s Anti-Terrorism Commission prohibited photographing or filming drone use and its consequences, along with drone crash sites and damaged objects. It separately banned the publication or distribution of any information that could identify the type of drone, its launch or crash site, flight path, target, whether an object was hit, and the nature of the damage. Violators are subject to administrative penalties.

In Kamchatka, the Anti-Terrorism Commission in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky issued a notice in August 2025 titled “On the ban on publications about drone attacks.” It did not, however, impose a legally binding regional ban, as the commission recommended that residents “refrain from publishing” photographs and videos showing the aftermath of terrorist attacks, including drone strikes.

The situation in the Kaliningrad Region — the Russian exclave squeezed between Lithuania and Poland — is unusual. The Insider found no regional legal act banning publication of information about drone attacks. However, the regional branch of Russia’s Emergency Situations Ministry notified residents in October 2025 of a “ban on posting” photographs and videos online showing the aftermath of terrorist attacks, as well as certain military and critical infrastructure sites.

The Emergency Situations Ministry itself said the requirement was based on a recommendation from the National Anti-Terrorism Committee that had been sent “to all regions.” The ministry said violating the recommendation could result in administrative or criminal liability.

That points to the existence of federal recommendations instructing regions to prevent the dissemination of such material, even though there is no single federal ban on publishing information about drone use and the consequences of attacks.

No single federal ban, but common guidance exists

Regional authorities impose the restrictions in different ways — through governors’ decrees and resolutions, as well as in the form of decisions by operational and anti-terrorism commissions.

Many documents cite Presidential Decree No. 757 of Oct. 19, 2022 as their legal basis. That decree established different security response levels across Russian regions and authorized regional authorities to take additional security measures. However, the decree itself does not contain a direct nationwide ban on publishing information about drone attacks.

The similarity in the wording of regional regulations is striking even in documents adopted in different parts of the country and at widely separated times. They repeatedly list the same categories of information: the type of drone, launch or crash site, flight path, attack location, whether an object was hit, the nature of the damage, the operation of air defenses and electronic warfare systems, and the locations of military and critical infrastructure.

The “we” Trump was referring to was the summit participants — the leaders of 20 countries who gathered at the resort of Sharm el-Sheikh to discuss Gaza’s post-war future. Their decisions laid the foundations for the Board of Peace, which emerged in early 2026 as a supranational “executive committee” responsible for rebuilding Gaza.

A body with unlimited powers

Trump, as the mastermind of the Board, speaks as if his creation could assume responsibility for the whole world, not just one small region. Conveniently, the Board’s charter specifies no geographic limits at all, even though it is associated primarily with Gaza.

The mandate for creating it was issued by the UN Security Council specifically to establish peace in the Gaza Strip. Or rather, the board gave those powers to itself and its members, since the Security Council merely approved the creation of the Board of Peace to implement the U.S. president’s fairly general peace plan. The Board, once created, then adopted its own charter containing these broad powers.

The Board of Peace also gave itself the right to oversee the technocratic Palestinian administration that would govern Gaza during the transitional period — between the cessation of hostilities and the formation of fully functioning elected authorities. The Board distributes humanitarian aid, is responsible for rebuilding infrastructure and the economy, and has even secured the right to form its own International Stabilization Force (ISF) — a quasi-army meant to maintain order in the region until Gaza has effective police units in place.

The Board of Peace gave itself the right to oversee the technocratic Palestinian administration

As chairman of the Board, Trump holds nearly unlimited powers, including veto power over any decision and the authority to personally appoint his successor without input from other officials. He can also select the ISF’s commander and create or dissolve bodies within the Board. What’s more, Trump remains at the head of the Board indefinitely, as the founding documents provide neither term limits for the top post nor any mechanism for removing him from it. The chairpersonship is not even tied to his presidency.

By and large, the charter and structure of the Board of Peace resemble those of a commercial company rather than those of a supranational organization responsible for resolving one of the world’s longest-running and bloodiest conflicts. Even the name itself points to the corporate world.

The “board of Trump’s friends”

How did Trump manage to get the UN Security Council to sign off on the creation of an almost openly commercial structure accountable to virtually no one? How did he entice the leaders of more than two dozen countries to join his new board? Several factors were at play.

First, Trump’s peace plan, though written in a “something for everyone” style, is virtually the only option that was marginally acceptable for Israel, Hamas, and the leading regional players all at once (though not without caveats, of course). Even Trump’s fiercest critics, such as Hillary Clinton, publicly praised the plan as the only realistic roadmap to peace. In principle, that was enough for the Security Council to approve the creation of a new body (with China and Russia abstaining).

Second, for several national leaders — like, say, Belarusian strongman Alexander Lukashenko — joining the Board offers a chance to curry favor with Trump and leverage his weight to solve their own problems. On top of that, Trump all but openly advertised his creation as a structure whose members could gain access to the budgets allocated for rebuilding Gaza.

As a result, the composition of the Board of Peace resembles a roster of Trump’s friends and those aspiring to join their ranks. Aside from Lukashenko, the list features the leaders of Azerbaijan and Armenia, the king of Jordan, and the emir of Kuwait — but no representatives of the United Kingdom, France, Japan, or Germany. Also telling is the presence of Trump’s favorite, Viktor Orbán, still listed on the Board of Peace’s official website as prime minister of Hungary, even though Hungary’s government has been led by Péter Magyar since May 2026.

The Board pays little attention to such nuances, as it has convened in full only twice — both times for ceremonial receptions rather than working sessions. After the first meeting in January 2026, when the Board’s charter was signed, the so-called inaugural session followed less than a month later. No decisions were made at that meeting, which merely laid out the organization’s purpose.

Importantly, all heads of state sit on the Board in their personal capacity, meaning that the body does not create obligations for the countries involved. It is better described as a club of Trump-loyal politicians assembled under the pretext of helping Gaza. For this reason, many major world powers are absent from the Board, and the European Union is represented by just two members — the already-mentioned Orbán and Bulgarian President Iliana Iotova.

Leaders of states with solid, well-established standing in long-running institutions such as the UN, the G7, and NATO are in no hurry to join Trump’s club. They prefer to operate in settings they already know and to use more traditional models of interaction with one another. They see the Board of Peace as a new, alternative UN in which Trump takes on the roles of chairman, Security Council, and supreme judge all at once. Unsurprisingly, he has even spoken openly about the possibility of replacing the UN with his creation.

Vladimir Putin’s possible membership on the Board of Peace is also a cause for concern. The Russian dictator was officially invited to join Trump’s club immediately after it was created, but he has yet to provide an official response to the offer. The dictator may be holding off on joining because he does not want to play second fiddle in an organization built around Trump. But he cannot say so openly either, for fear of damaging relations with the American leader.

In any case, the invitation has not been withdrawn, and in theory Putin could join the Board at any moment — and would almost certainly try to use it to pull Trump to his side and discredit other international institutions.

No structure, no budget

All of the above is just a fraction of the Board’s many troubles and risks. The organization appears to lack funding to carry out what it envisions: forming and sustaining the International Stabilization Force, rebuilding thousands of homes and infrastructure facilities, creating a favorable investment climate in Gaza, and all the rest of the aspirations laid out in Trump’s peace plan.

While the Board was being set up, Trump urged its would-be members to contribute to the organization’s fund. One billion dollars would buy a lifetime membership and veto power. Members could skip the contribution, but then their membership was limited to two or three years — and no veto power. Since the Board’s budget was empty as of this past May, it appears that neither the members’ contributions nor the $10 billion Trump promised from the U.S. Treasury ever actually arrived.

At the end of the day, the Board of Peace is a body with enormous powers on paper but no budget of its own, no clear deadlines, and no clear division of responsibilities among its members — in other words, none of the things integral to the functioning of such international organizations.

Still, the Board continues to exist simply because Trump wants it to. He has yet to tire of his creation and shows no intention of abandoning the cockamamie unfinished structure. The Board still is not really functional and has not even published a report for the first six months of its existence — most likely because there is nothing to report.

In August, almost a year after the Egypt summit at which the U.S. president promised Gaza’s demilitarization, Trump’s club signed its first preliminary contract to build a military base in Gaza. Instead of the promised demilitarization, implementation of the U.S. president’s peace plan is set to begin with the construction — in the Israeli-occupied part of the Gaza Strip — of a barracks and a number of support buildings for a Moroccan ISF contingent. Morocco was one of the first countries (along with Kazakhstan and Kosovo, among others) to announce its readiness to send troops to Gaza to help form the International Stabilization Force.

The initial plan suggested sending 500 Moroccan service members to Palestine. Then reports emerged that there would be 200 — supposedly to guard a refugee camp while also training the Palestinian security forces. But all of this remains at the level of speculation and guesswork. There are still no concrete documents specifying the numbers or the exact mission of the Moroccan troops in Gaza, and the source and size of financing for the construction of their base is just as vague. The contract reportedly went to Arkel International, a Louisiana-based company that has built multiple U.S. military facilities abroad. But the funding sources, the contract’s value, and its timeline are not mentioned anywhere in open sources.

And that’s not even the biggest problem with the first real initiative of the Board of Peace. What matters far more is the glaring gap between the institution’s grand plans and its actions. The Board, which presents itself as the main instrument for turning a war-torn region into a flourishing land, has managed to issue just one contract — and even that a preliminary one — for building a decidedly modest outpost to house a single reinforced army company.

Moreover, news of the Arkel International contract coincided with the Board of Peace’s first serious internal conflict. On August 9, Israeli Prime Minister and Board of Peace member Benjamin Netanyahu called Trump’s plan for establishing peace in Gaza unacceptable.

Prior to that, Trump announced in late July that the Board of Peace had secured a promise from Hamas to lay down its weapons, and that it was time for Israel to begin the gradual withdrawal of its forces from the Strip. Netanyahu, for his part, argued that no agreements with Hamas existed, and that Israel therefore had no obligation to pull back its troops.

If the Board of Peace were a normally functioning diplomatic organization, this scandal would have seriously damaged its reputation. After all, it was the Board that, according to Trump, reached an agreement with Hamas, and it was the same Board that, according to Netanyahu, never agreed to anything at all. However, in the absence of a reputation, even such a scandal did little to tarnish the Board’s name.

In the absence of a reputation, even a real scandal did little to tarnish the Board’s name

Obviously, putting a complete end to the war in Gaza and bringing stability and prosperity to the region is a monumental task. It cannot be solved with just a club of Trump’s friends — a good number of whom, one can assume, have little concern for Gaza’s fate. From the very start, this initiative by the U.S. president bore the mark of political adventurism and differed little from his promises to end the war in Ukraine in 24 hours, to make Canada a U.S. state, or to make Mexico pay for a border wall. 

The Board of Peace could perhaps be compared to the American president’s previous pet project: the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), created specifically for Elon Musk. It was conceived as a tool for sharply cutting government spending and shrinking the federal workforce, and at the start of his second presidential term, Trump praised DOGE almost daily. But over time, the president’s interest in the new department faded, Musk fell out of Trump’s favor, and DOGE stopped operating.

It is reasonable to assume something similar will happen with the Board of Peace. Once Trump realizes that its members are in no hurry to fill its coffers — and that the decisions made and even the contracts signed are not bringing the transformation of Gaza’s ruins into a “Middle Eastern Riviera” any closer — the U.S. president will lose interest in the project and move on to his next quixotic grift. 

The first EU project, EVIDENCE (the European Informatics Data Exchange Framework for Courts and Evidence) ran from March 2014 to October 2016 and listed Oxygen Forensics among the companies consulted on handling digital evidence. The second, INSPECTr, operated from September 2019 to February 2023 — one year after the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. As part of that project, software was developed to process data extracted using Oxygen Forensics products, though an unnamed European Commission representative told Politico that Oxygen Forensics did not receive EU funding directly.

Meanwhile, French investigative outlet Disclose found that Oxygen Forensics surveillance software was supplied to Moroccan authorities under an EU-funded program aimed at strengthening border security in the Maghreb.

Hungarian procurement records show that in December 2024, Hungarian police signed a contract with Oxygen Forensics worth 10.14 million forints (27,000 euros) that ran through December 2025. An April 2026 document from prosecutors in Sassari, Sardinia, listed Oxygen Forensics products among the programs judicial police officers could use to extract and analyze data from mobile devices.

Law enforcement agencies in Germany, Spain, Italy, and Poland also purchased the company’s software, and authorities in Romania and Latvia were still buying it as late as this month — September 2026.

Oxygen Forensics CEO Lee Reiber, a U.S. citizen, was arrested in Idaho on Sept. 20. The same day, British authorities detained the company’s chief technology officer and co-founder, Russian citizen Oleg Davydov, at London Heathrow airport at the request of U.S. authorities. The executives are accused of concealing that the company was controlled by Russian citizens and that its software was developed in Russia.

Oxygen was founded in 2000 by programmers Oleg Fyodorov and Oleg Davydov. They initially focused only on foreign markets, but in 2007 they launched a Russian version of the product called “Mobile Forensic Expert” (“Mobilny Kriminalist”). Its main purpose is to extract data from mobile phones. According to U.S. prosecutors, the American company Oxygen Forensics was incorporated in Virginia in 2013.

The company sold software to the Pentagon and U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). As The Insider previously reported, its software was also supplied to Russia’s Federal Security Service, or FSB, which used it to extract data from locked smartphones belonging to Russian journalists and activists including Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty journalist Alsu Kurmasheva, who was sentenced to 6.5 years in prison for “spreading false information” about the Russian army in July 2024.

Kurmasheva was subsequently released alongside former U.S. Marine Paul Whelan, Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich, and multiple others in a 26-person prisoner exchange between Russia and the West on Aug. 1, 2024.

One source said OMK wants to buy one or more stakes in “small and nonprestigious” factories that would serve both the Chinese domestic market and Russia. Chinese manufacturers themselves have also proposed such arrangements. “It is possible to agree that one or several production lines would work for Russian needs,” the source told the newspaper.

Maxim Slugin, a partner at the Jinshi law firm, said Chinese factories generally allow Russian investment but may reject an investor linked to the Russian state or subject to Western sanctions.

Alexei Yershov, deputy director of a research and education center run by Russia’s Federal Tax Service and Bauman Moscow State Technical University, noted that many Russian microelectronics companies, including Baikal, Modul, and Elvis, already have chips manufactured in China. Buying stakes in Chinese factories would help reserve production capacity for Russian customers. “It is easier for a shareholder to obtain quotas and a predictable price,” Yershov said.

OMK was established in January 2026 to develop Russia’s microelectronics industry. Its stated goals include consolidating resources, creating a full-cycle microelectronics manufacturing complex, and training qualified personnel.

The Russian industry publication CNews reported that as of September 2026, Russian semiconductor plants were unable to manufacture chips using current-generation process technologies. The most advanced process available domestically is 90 nanometers, a technology dating to 2003, according to the outlet. Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co. (TSMC), the world’s largest contract chipmaker, began producing chips using a 2-nanometer process last year. South Korea’s Samsung also has access to the technology. Both companies stopped working with Russia in 2022 after the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

Chinese factories do not yet have 2-nanometer process technology but are approaching that level, according to CNews.

“The facility was indeed built. But it is wrong to say that some system was reactivated. Nothing was ever deactivated,” Podvig told The Insider.

A vast complex inside a mountain

The site is known as Facility or Object 1335 and is located near the settlement of Kytlym at the foot of Mount Kosvinsky Kamen. According to the investigation, the “Object” is a large, hardened underground command complex. The authors reviewed around 2.5 million Russian documents and public records, including government procurement files dating back to 2011, as well as satellite imagery and photographs posted by Russian military personnel.

The documents indicate that particularly extensive work began in 2018. Purchases for the site included steel, pipes, cables, concrete, heavy excavation and drilling equipment, mine ventilation systems, earthquake-resistant air-conditioning systems, and air filtration systems designed to protect against chemical, biological, and radioactive contamination.

Investigators calculated that about 20,000 metric tons of steel were purchased for the construction. The documents mention at least 24 underground chambers, while the straight-line distance between the main and emergency exits is about 2.5 kilometers. Per Goltermann, a professor at the Technical University of Denmark, estimated that the amount of concrete used would have been enough to create at least 150,000 square meters of surface area.

Procurement peaked in 2020 and 2021. In 2020 alone, contractors used 361.4 kilometers of cable, 5,429 light fixtures, 30 transformers, and 160 ventilation units. Satellite imagery shows large spoil heaps of rock excavated from the mountain and the construction of a new road.

Russian military sources linked the site to Perimeter

The investigation’s authors linked the facility to the Soviet Perimeter system, which was designed to preserve the Kremlin’s ability to transmit an order for a retaliatory nuclear strike even if an attack destroyed the normal command channels for strategic forces. The investigators cited publications by Russian military officers as evidence of the site’s purpose. In 2022, retired Maj. Gen. V.G. Khalin wrote that work was underway at Facility 1335 to place the Perimeter automation system on experimental combat duty, and a 2025 publication by Col. Y. Andreyev said that after years of trial operation, the facility was placed on combat duty in 2023.

In 2026, Khalin again wrote about the facility, saying it had the “technical capability to carry out an automatic retaliatory strike.” Those publications, together with the scale of the construction work, were among the reasons the investigators concluded that “Dead Hand” had been revived.

Pavel Podvig: “Nothing was ever deactivated”

Podvig, however, says that description of Perimeter is misleading, explaining that Facility 1335 is part of Russia’s nuclear command-and-control system, while Perimeter itself is primarily a backup communications system designed to transmit a launch order in the event that conventional channels are destroyed.

Podvig was describing the system that way long before the latest investigation. In a 2006 post on his Russian Strategic Nuclear Forces website, Podvid provided analysis of an internal 1985 Soviet Communist Party Central Committee document in which he wrote that Soviet leaders had indeed considered creating a fully automated retaliatory-strike system that senior officials could activate in advance during a crisis. However, he wrote, the Soviet Union never built such an automatic “doomsday machine,” and Perimeter, with which it is often confused, was a different system.

“Perimeter is just a communication system that uses rockets to transmit launch orders to individual silos in case the land lines or other communication lines are destroyed,” Podvig wrote. Addressing claims that Perimeter could automatically initiate a retaliatory strike, he emphasized that the system “did not and does not have an ‘automatic response’”

How Perimeter is actually supposed to work

Podvig cited the same description after the new investigation was published. In his book Russian Strategic Nuclear Forces, he writes that Perimeter is integrated into Russia’s broader nuclear command-and-control system and uses special command rockets. Once ordered to launch, such a rocket would take off and transmit launch orders and the necessary codes directly to missile units during flight in the event that other communications links had been destroyed.

During the design phase, planners did consider a version in which, after Perimeter had been activated in advance, command rockets could launch automatically if the system did not receive an order to stop the sequence within a set period. That approach was abandoned, however, because of the risk that the automated process could not be stopped.

According to the description cited by Podvig, Perimeter was ultimately deployed as a backup communications channel, with its command rockets launched only on a human order from a central or reserve command post.

Russia’s nuclear command system does, however, provide for the possibility of a retaliatory strike even if direct communication with the country’s supreme commander-in-chief is lost. However, several conditions must first be met: the system must confirm the loss of communications, it must detect nuclear explosions on Russian territory, and the supreme commander-in-chief must have authorized such a retaliatory option in advance. If those factors are present, then a central or reserve command post could use its own authorization codes.

Alexander Kruglyansky, 31, and Alexandra Kruglyanskaya, 42, were detained Sept. 23. Montenegrin police said border and customs officers searching their luggage found 26,210 euros, 1,150 Israeli shekels, a large quantity of undeclared electronics, and various medications. Several communications devices were also seized. The couple are suspected of smuggling and money laundering.

According to Vijesti, electronics were found in 17 of the 19 suitcases. Police photographs of the seized equipment show a BugHunter Professional BH-04 radio-signal detector, surveillance cameras, computer components, storage devices, cables, and a GPS tracker with a microphone bearing Russian-language labels. 

After the arrests, police searched an apartment on the second floor of a residential building in Budva that the couple had been using. The search lasted more than 12 hours. Officers found cash in eight currencies — euros, Russian rubles, Serbian dinars, Israeli shekels, Turkish lira, UAE dirhams, U.S. dollars, and Kyrgyz soms — worth about 1 million euros in total. Police also seized a polygraph, communications equipment, a large quantity of electronic hardware, and 1,120 euros that they suspect is counterfeit. All of the seized items will be sent for forensic examination.

Vijesti also reported that security officers searched an apartment in the city of Bar that the Kruglyanskys were believed to have used. The couple had entered Montenegro multiple times and stayed there on tourist visas. Both exercised their right to remain silent during questioning.

Investigating Judge Špiro Pavićević of the Basic Court in Kotor ordered the Kruglyanskys detained for up to 30 days citing a flight risk. Police said they were investigating the circumstances of the case together with Montenegro’s National Security Agency and other security bodies, and were also cooperating with the international intelligence community.

In July, Montenegro expelled three Russians after local authorities found a large quantity of computer and digital equipment in their possession. One of them was camera operator Andrei Ishkinin, who had worked with Shkulev Media. His wife told The Insider that he was transporting computers and other equipment to a friend’s birthday gathering for gamers. She was unable to name the specific games involved, however, and declined to provide the identity  of the person whose birthday was purportedly being celebrated. Montenegrin police and the National Security Agency said at the time that they would determine the purpose of the three Russians’ trip and the intended use of the equipment and would report the results. No findings have yet been made public.

Artificial intelligence is entering the contest between Washington and Beijing

The first story arrived mid-August, when the Financial Times reported what the Israeli firm Dream described as the first-ever near-autonomous AI attack on a government. Assembled from two open-source agent frameworks, the tool ran up to eight agents over the course of four days in early July, mapping 21 Taiwanese government systems, compromising at least 85 accounts, and exfiltrating more than 2,500 personnel records before turning toward the nuclear safety agency and several energy companies. The AI model’s safeguards were bypassed by falsely labeling the attack as an “authorized penetration test.” Dream could not determine which model was used, and Taiwan’s digital ministry likewise confirmed that an AI-agent intrusion targeting government agencies had taken place, but without naming a source (or reporting any disruption).

Twelve days later, Bloomberg reported that the Taiwanese threat-intelligence firm TeamT5 had watched state-affiliated Chinese groups more than double their attack volume after handing reconnaissance and malware development to DeepSeek and other open-source models, which generated exploit code and harvested one thousand IP addresses. This second story, the more consequential of the two, demonstrates just how easily AI could alter who can “see” the attacker. TeamT5's chief analyst called DeepSeek “relatively powerful with very low cyber guardrails.”

Two days after Bloomberg’s report came a third story — one that received far less attention but, to my mind, helps explain both. On Aug. 26, the U.S. Justice Department seized the domains behind QScan and QTRouter, a scanning platform and a proxy relay built by a contractor group the FBI calls QTFY. The department’s release puts NASA and the Senate on the attackers’ target list. The group worked for China’s Nanjing Xinjiuwei Network Technology, whose clients included Beijing’s Ministry of State Security and the People’s Liberation Army. It operated from May 2018 until June 2026, when the group scanned a U.S. election system and failed. Notable other activities included intrusions in September 2024 at Department of Energy laboratories and the National Institutes of Health.

In other words, QScan, a distributed scanner whose worker nodes reported to central domains, constituted industrialized reconnaissance made by human engineering years before anyone even thought to delegate the job to an AI agent. Still, it ended as such campaigns end: with its domains seized.

What agents change

Framed as a question of capability uplift — of whether models will find new holes or write better malware — the debate about AI in cyber operations has, I posit, missed the mark. Anthropic’s November 2025 account of GTG-1002, a first-of-its-kind Chinese state-sponsored campaign run through Claude Code against roughly 30 organizations, shows where the difference maker is: mainly that its numbers actually point away from the frontier.

What matters most is that even back in 2025, far before Anthropic’s Mythos or Kimi K3, the AI performed 80 to 90 percent of the tactical work, making thousands of requests at rates no human team could match, while humans intervened at four to six decision points per campaign. The tools were overwhelmingly open-source penetration-testing utilities rather than custom malware. The model repeatedly overstated its findings, hallucinating credentials and presenting public data as secret. The ratio of operators to operations changed, and consequently, so did the tempo. The choice of target and the decision to act still rested with humans.

AI is capable of simplifying already-known methods of cyberattack, but it can’t yet independently discover new vulnerabilities

The academic evidence runs the same direction: a University of Illinois team showed in 2024 that a GPT-4 agent could exploit 87 percent of a set of real, already-disclosed vulnerabilities when handed the description, and 7 percent without one. Executing a known attack has become cheap in a way that discovering the breach simply has not. In August, the Chinese-speaking operator Palo Alto Networks’ Unit 42 documented that running DeepSeek-driven autonomous exploitation attempts mostly failed for that reason, succeeding only once a human took over to exploit a Citrix flaw by hand.

However, Anthropic’s Sept. 10 report supplies a notable, partial exception. Chinese-speaking operators in Hunan (two of them undergraduates) ran Claude as a round-the-clock vulnerability-research loop and came away with previously unknown flaws in a major security product — one that had been validated in their own lab and was working exploits for several families of network and security appliances. The company’s own judgment is that the larger change sits across the kill chain rather than in exploit discovery.

North Korea, the purest case because its hackers work for revenue, gained fluent English and durable fake personas from generative models, and nothing new by way of technique. The scheme itself of course predates the models. In fact, that is the pattern my own research on Pyongyang's operations finds across cases: the models industrialize the deception layer and leave exploitation itself about where it was.

Again, none of this makes Chinese cyber activity innocuous, but Volt Typhoon, which U.S. intelligence describes as pre-positioning inside American critical infrastructure for a future conflict, has never been triggered. Agents only shorten the path to access without pulling the trigger. No Chinese leader will decide whether to pull it based on how cheaply that access was obtained.

However, one case — I concede — cuts the other way. This July, models that OpenAI was running through an internal cyber evaluation found a zero-day in their test environment and used it to reach the open internet, where they broke into Hugging Face’s production servers to cheat on the exam — all without human intervention or decision-making. METR, the outside evaluator that OpenAI let in afterward, counted about 700 agents in the attack.

Anthropic’s chief executive Dario Amodei cited the imbroglio on Sept. 12 when urging the industry to slow down. As warnings go it is a fair one. Yet it was also a laboratory accident: OpenAI had switched off the cyber classifiers for the test and launched tens of thousands of agents at once. The public can recite the result in such detail only because it happened inside an American company, which published a post-mortem and opened the transcripts to outside investigators. “Many external models, including open-source ones, will soon reach comparable capabilities,” the same report warns.

The window that is closing

Everything the public knows about state hackers using AI comes from a small number of disclosures. For nearly all of them, the provenance is the American company whose model was abused. The first, in February 2024, came from OpenAI and Microsoft, which found five state-linked groups, two of them Chinese, using ChatGPT for research and scripting. GTG-1002 followed from Anthropic’s watch over its own platform, as did the Hunan group in September.

This February OpenAI disrupted a Chinese influence operation against Japan’s prime minister Sanae Takaichi. The interesting detail was that ChatGPT had refused the request, so the operation went ahead without it. The operators came back only to polish status reports, and the operation surfaced because someone just so happened to touch an American model once. That is the whole mechanism, since visibility into adversary AI use has been a byproduct of adversaries using American AI. Every 2026 case that centered on a Chinese model (Unit 42’s operator, Dream’s agents, TeamT5’s three groups) came from a third party rather than a provider, because no American provider saw the traffic.

Every 2026 case that centered on a Chinese model came from a third party rather than a provider, because no American provider saw the traffic

In a lower key, influence operations tell the same story, with the same one-sided disclosures. Four of the ten cases in OpenAI’s June 2025 threat report likely originated in China. Among them, the covert influence networks generated comments by the hundred and, by OpenAI’s own accounting, drew quite little authentic engagement.

The Japan operation is a classic case here: in essence, the move to locally run Chinese models once ChatGPT refused was the migration happening in miniature. In one update, the unit behind the influence operation recorded over 50,000 posts across 200 Western platforms, fewer than 150 of which drew over 300 shares or comments. Reach matters less than plumbing. Whatever lives in the weights travels into every product built on the Chinese models. A NewsGuard audit in January 2025 found DeepSeek’s chatbot framing its answers from Beijing's perspective 60 percent of the time on prompts about foreign false claims, most of them predictably not about China.

As such, the migration to Chinese models has very plain causes. None of them is a mystery to the operators themselves. Foremost are the guardrails, or rather, the want of them. DeepSeek’s R1 failed every one of fifty harmful prompts in Cisco’s testing. Criminals moved to it and to Qwen within weeks of release. Then, the price difference easily does the rest. The models run at a fraction of what their American rivals charge — up to 90% cheaper by one marketplace's estimate.

The customer base runs beyond China, as Google’s threat researchers found a tool of the Russian state-backed group APT28 — used against Ukraine — that queried Alibaba’s Qwen through Hugging Face at runtime for its commands. It was the first malware Google had seen call a model in live operations: in short, Chinese open models are becoming infrastructure for everyone’s operators. And to my knowledge, no Chinese provider has ever published a threat-intelligence disclosure about misuse of its models.

The user base for Chinese AI models extends far beyond China, including into Russia

The loss of visibility is only half of it, because the same shift removes the lever that has ended every campaign to date. When QTFY’s nodes all reported to three domains, the FBI could seize them and the platforms went dark. GTG-1002, because it ran on Claude, ended when Anthropic cut the accounts. The campaign was contained in about ten days.

A separate campaign run on DeepSeek weights downloaded onto the operator’s own servers would have no domain to seize and no provider to call. Dream never determined which model attacked Taiwan. On August 20, The Insider argued that developers such as OpenAI and Google should monitor API requests for state hackers and that regulators should extend know-your-customer rules to cloud-based AI services. Both are right, and both just so happen to apply only to operators who stay on American platforms.

Attribution, escalation, and what the formula gets wrong

Does espionage that arrives faster make war likelier? The standard forecast holds that AI makes cyber operations faster and cheaper and harder to attribute, and therefore more escalatory. Faster and cheaper are true, but the rest survives only in a form so narrow that its proponents would hardly recognize it.

Thomas Rid and Ben Buchanan argued more than a decade ago that attribution is a layered judgment (it runs from the tactical through the operational to the strategic) and never a reading of the toolkit alone. The 2026 record, remarkably, bears them out. Where I depart from them is at the provider level. They wrote before any operator could conceive of delegating tactical work to agentic AI, and before any company held the prompts such delegation leaves behind, which preserve each instruction in the operator's own words. Obviously, no such source could have been conceived in their scholarship, yet it informs all three of their levels simultaneously. Once operators run Chinese open weights on their own hardware, those prompts and their process never leave the machines. The source is gone, and attribution falls back only on what the operator leaves behind.

Dream pointed to a Chinese-language operator from the Simplified Chinese of the framework’s internal reports. The FBI, working from Ministry of State Security payment records and the operators’ former service in the PLA, tied QTFY to Beijing. Ergo, agentic operations are, if anything, noisier than human ones, since a campaign making several requests a second is an anomaly that behavioral monitoring is designed to catch.

Agentic operations are, if anything, noisier than human ones, since a campaign making several requests a second is an anomaly

As for escalation (the even weaker claim), the evidence sits in how the United States has answered Chinese campaigns. Washington dealt with an eight-year PLA-linked campaign against its own agencies with a domain seizure. Earlier campaigns drew indictments of people who will never be arrested. My research on North Korean cyber operations finds the same shape: attribution now arrives later than it did, and a remedy does not arrive at all. The median lag from theft to government attribution lengthened from 59 days for cases from 2022 and 2023 to 111 for those in 2024 and 2025. The recovery rate for such operations sits near one percent.

The state’s toolkit against espionage is legal and dilatory. That accords with what Sarah Kreps and Jacquelyn Schneider found in a survey experiment that showed Americans were less willing to escalate over a cyberattack than over a conventional one of similar effect (the cyber firebreak), and with Jon Lindsay’s reading of Stuxnet. This reading has aged well. Espionage that arrives faster is still espionage, and states have absorbed espionage without going to war for as long as there have been states.

Where the balance moves

While cyber operations have not changed the outcome of any international dispute — and nothing in the August record portends that agents will — the balance between Washington and Beijing now turns on who owns the plumbing, and faster espionage has little to do with it. Donald Trump told reporters at his golf resort in Ireland on Sept. 13 that America is leading China in AI and that “whoever wins AI wins.”

He has a case: on Sept. 8 the FBI, the NSA, and CISA named six Chinese labs — DeepSeek and Alibaba among them — for distilling American models at industrial scale, a practice the agencies called “the critical core” of how those labs build. Anthropic’s report of Sept. 10 counted more than 151 million such exchanges from Alibaba alone between May and July.

Chinese open-weight models carried a weekly peak of 46% of enterprise token traffic on the OpenRouter marketplace by early July, up from below 5% a year earlier, and DeepSeek’s V4 was trained in part on Huawei’s chips. The operators who follow that traffic of course take their prompts with them.

Chinese open-weight models carried a weekly peak of 46% of enterprise token traffic by early July, up from below 5% a year earlier

An American provider cannot report what it never sees, and the FBI cannot seize weights that sit on the operator’s own hardware. The provider has been Washington’s best sensor, more by accident than by design, and the very hackers it was watching are now leaving its platforms. As a result, the daily cyberattack count in Taipei will keep climbing, and the attempts it counts will still switch nothing off. In the end, fewer will know who is behind them.

All of the channels analyzed by The Insider publish in Russian, and some operate anonymously. The largest are linked to the state-run media group Rossiya Segodnya, which includes RT. They are run by RT editorial staff, in-house RT journalists, or frequent contributors to the channel. At least one channel was previously part of the disinformation network overseen by the late Wagner Group co-founder Yevgeny Prigozhin.

None of the people behind the five largest channels have actually lived in Latvia in recent years. Some have left for Russia and others for Belarus. From abroad, they criticize Latvian government policies while presenting themselves as voices of the country’s “outraged citizens.”

The channels regularly repost one another’s content and amplify material from other Russian propagandists, including RT head Margarita Simonyan. They also promote  pro-government Belarusian social media accounts.

The channels repeat a common set of narratives that closely mirror Kremlin messaging: that Russian speakers in Latvia are being persecuted, that Nazism is on the rise in the Baltic states, and that ordinary people in the country are becoming poorer. The channels blame these problems on Riga’s support for Ukraine, arguing that public money is being diverted to the war.

Aleksejs Rosļikovs’ channel

The largest channel, with about 30,000 subscribers, is run by Aleksejs Rosļikovs, a former member of Latvia’s parliament, the Saeima.

Rosļikovs, 42, is a controversial figure in Latvian politics. Before entering public life, he spent years in business, running a confectionery company and later owning several private security firms, a taxi dispatch service, and a car rental company. He went on to serve in the Saeima and later on the Riga City Council.

Latvian authorities have opened a criminal case against him on suspicion of inciting ethnic hatred. The case stems from a June 5, 2025, speech in parliament in which Rosļikovs made an obscene gesture toward fellow lawmakers and ended his remarks in Russian by saying, “There are more of us; Russian is our language.”

In the spring of 2026, Rosļikovs left Latvia for Belarus. From there, he continues to run his Telegram channel and says he plans to run again for the Saeima with his Stability! party. He has told potential voters that if elected, parliamentary immunity would allow him to return to Latvia and that he would seek to lift sanctions on Russia.

Over the past month, Rosļikovs’ Telegram channel gained several thousand subscribers, and in early September,he unexpectedly made the platform private, limiting access to subscribers only. Rosļikovs also runs personal accounts on Facebook (where he has about 16,000 followers) and Instagram (where he has around 109,000). Alongside political commentary, he posts videos of himself working out and taking ice plunges, a Russian Orthodox tradition in which participants immerse themselves in near-freezing water in January to mark the baptism of Jesus.

Baltnews

The second most significant channel, Baltnews (@baltnews), is run by the editorial staff of the “Russia Today” International Information Agency — as is explicitly stated on the publication’s website. The channel has 24,000 subscribers.

Its editorial team publishes dozens of posts a day, quotes Russian and Belarusian propaganda outlets, and reposts content from other channels in the network. In the past year alone, Baltnews reposted content from the BelVPO channel 149 times and from the “Belvestnik” channel 107 times.

The publication also claims that due to ongoing financial aid to Ukraine, the standard of living for Latvians has declined, and that Russophobia is so rampant in the country that it has forced Russian speakers to emigrate. Particular emphasis is placed on the idea that neighboring countries do not respect Latvia and openly mock it.

Even positive news, such as falling prices in stores, are presented in a negative light: “According to estimates by Latvian retail chains, a basket of groceries that used to cost 50 euros now costs 46.28 euros. Savings of 3.72 euros are hardly going to save the local poor or those rapidly approaching poverty.”

Even positive news, such as falling prices in stores, are presented in a negative light

The channel’s editor-in-chief is 34-year-old Riga native Andrejs Starikovs. After Latvian authorities banned the publication in 2018 and opened criminal cases against its staff, Starikovs moved to Moscow. 

In addition to running his propaganda page, Starikovs also produces films commissioned by the Russian authorities.

The “Baltic Antifascists” page

The third most significant page in the pro-Russian network is the channel of the organization “Baltic Antifascists,” which has nearly 20,000 subscribers. The organization and the channel were created in November 2022 and are led by 62-year-old Sergejs Vasiļjevs, a native of Latvia.

The “Baltic Antifascists” page actively accuses the Latvian authorities of Nazism and Russophobia. Vasilyev refers to Latvia itself exclusively as a territory “temporarily occupied by NATO troops.”

Vasiļjevs refers to Latvia exclusively as a territory “temporarily occupied by NATO troops”

Criminal cases have now been opened against him and several others for gathering intelligence on behalf of the FSB.

Vasiļjevs himself does not deny gathering data for Russian security agencies, speaking openly about it during live broadcasts. For example, one of the organization’s tasks was to gather information on the bulldozer operators who demolished Soviet monuments.

“We launched a poll [via a Telegram channel] and a flood of opinions came in. We collected all these files and forwarded them to the Investigative Committee of Russia. Now we have a number of suspects in the vandalism case [on Russian territory],” Vasilyev openly boasted in an interview.

The administrators also used the “Baltic Antifascists” group to gather information about Russian opposition events, Latvian volunteers fighting on the side of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, as well as NATO equipment and facilities in the Baltic states.

Vasilyev also has a co-defendant in his criminal case over the collection of information for Russia’s security services: 26-year-old Latvian citizen and St. Petersburg State University student Tatiana Andriets. In 2022, Andriets traveled to Riga for vacation and participated in a protest against the demolition of Soviet monuments. Latvian authorities charged her  with “aiding a foreign state” and forming a criminal group. She spent nine months in pretrial detention and is currently under house arrest while her trial is ongoing.

Although Andriets is not a Russian citizen, Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova has repeatedly commented on her case, calling the trial “political” in nature.

Alexei Stefanov, Ruslan Pankratov, and Nikolai Mezhevich

Three other major public pages are run by journalists and political analysts associated with Russia Today who appear as regular guests on Russian television programs such as Solovyov Live, Zvezda, and REN TV. These include the personal channel of “Russia Today” special correspondent Alexei Stefanov, with 16,000 subscribers; the channel of political scientist Ruslan Pankratov from the Institute of CIS Countries (12,000 subscribers); and the channel of Nikolai Mezhevich, a researcher at the Institute of Europe of the Russian Academy of Sciences (12,000 subscribers).

They regularly repost each other’s content. For example, over the past year, Mezhevich’s channel has mentioned Stefanov’s channel 200 times. Stefanov himself constantly cites the channel “Latviyskaya Kochka” (lit. “Latvian Bump”) which reposts content from Margarita Simonyan’s public pages and those of other Russian propagandists.

In addition to narratives about the oppression of Russians in Latvia, the channels offer advice on how to move to Russia, promote content about the “horrible Nazis in Kyiv,” and scare their audience by claiming that war will soon break out on Latvian territory if the country does not change its attitude towards Moscow.

The network also includes smaller public channels with notable backgrounds. One is “Zloi Pribalt” (@wagner_baltika), whose name and logo match channels from Yevgeny Prigozhin’s former Wagner-linked media network. It has only about 1,200 subscribers but is the most prolific channel in the network, publishing about 66,000 posts since Jan. 1, 2025.

The fire was quickly extinguished and the second device was defused. German authorities described the suspects as low-level recruits and said the limited damage they inflicted was consistent with their amateurish methods. Investigators said the same group had planned an arson attack on a Skyeton plant near Prešov, Slovakia, that produces reconnaissance drones for Ukraine, but the plot was disrupted. A Latvian and a Ukrainian were detained in Slovakia on Aug. 25, while another Latvian was arrested in Hamburg.

According to the newspaper, investigators have linked both the Munich arson attack and an attempted Aug. 4 drone attack at Leipzig/Halle airport to Russian’s military intelligence agency, the GRU. Germany’s intelligence services believe the operations are being directed by the GRU’s Special Activities Service, which has built a logistics network across Europe. The Leipzig group was headed by career GRU officer Denis Smolyaninov, according to the paper’s sources.

The attacks are aimed at disrupting military supplies to Ukraine and pressuring Europe to reduce its support for Kyiv. After Russian intelligence officers operating under diplomatic cover were expelled from a range of European countries over various Russian malign activities, the GRU began recruiting operatives through Telegram and paying them in cryptocurrency. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung found that the drone used in the Leipzig attack had been hidden in an underground cache.

On Sept. 24, French President Emmanuel Macron said in an interview with TF1 and France 2 that France could face sabotage similar to the Leipzig incident. Spanish newspaper El Mundo had previously reported that U.S. intelligence recently warned European governments about a possible Russian drone attack against Spain, France, or Italy.

The center’s analysts counted 107 tankers that have switched to the Russian flag since the start of 2025, boosting Russia’s overall registry by 36%. The peak came in December 2025, coinciding with a U.S. campaign against Venezuelan crude and threats to detain oil tankers.

At the time they changed flags, 93 tankers — 87% of the total — were already under sanctions. More than half of them had sailed under false flags between the time they were added to sanctions lists and the time they switched to Russian jurisdiction.

CREA confirmed sanctions were a key factor behind the rise in tankers switching to the Russian flag. Throughout the first half of 2025, “shadow fleet” vessels were actively being registered in the Comoros and Gambia, but the company managing their registrations was placed under European sanctions that summer. As a result, both countries reduced the number of tankers they registered, and some of those vessels switched to the Russian flag instead. Panama also cut the number of “shadow fleet” vessels in its registries by nearly two-thirds starting from May 2025.

CREA’s analysts said the case of the Arctic Metagaz gas carrier (IMO: 9243148) may also have made third countries less willing to register vessels that, in practice, operate on behalf of Russia. The gas carrier was struck by a drone this spring and was left drifting in the Mediterranean. The report’s authors said the incident highlighted Russia’s inability to meet its obligations to countries that allow “shadow fleet” vessels to sail under their flags, prompting those states to increasingly refuse registrations.

The decision to place Fedotov on the persona non grata list under Latvia’s immigration law was announced by Latvian Foreign Minister Baiba Braže, who chose not to publicize the reasons for the decision.

As The Insider established, Sergei Fedotov is a 72-year-old businessman from Solnechnogorsk in the Moscow Region. He is the majority owner of the companies Forma ZhBI LLC and PLK Forma LLC. At the start of the full-scale war, Forma ZhBI reported producing about 2,000 concrete “dragon’s teeth” and tetrapods. These were sent to the Belgorod Region and to Russian-occupied territories of Donbas. The company also supplied stoves to the Russian military.

After The Insider’s report, Fedotov confirmed that his company had indeed carried out an order for anti-tank barriers, adding that the company acted as a subcontractor and received a “small order” because the main contractor could not produce the necessary number of structures in time. Fedotov claims the barriers were intended to defend Russia’s Belgorod Region.

Stepaņenko has received two large gifts from her father worth a combined 419,600 euros, The Insider found. In October 2022, she declared 239,600 euros, and in January 2024 Fedotov bought her an apartment in Riga worth 180,000 euros. The businessman himself explained to The Insider that he transferred his Latvian assets to his daughter after travel to the country became difficult.

The origin of the funds gifted to Stepaņenko, along with any possible security risks, are now being examined by several Latvian state agencies. The State Security Service of Latvia said it had previously studied the information and briefed the National Security Council and the country’s senior officials. The agency and other institutions are assessing the published information, and the Corruption Prevention and Combating Bureau has taken an interest in the gifts.

CEO Lee Reiber and Chief Technology Officer Oleg Davydov were arrested in connection with the case. The Insider was able to confirm that Oxygen Forensics supplied software capable of accessing the contents of locked phones not only to U.S. law enforcement agencies but also to Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB). The same software was used to extract data from the iPhone of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty journalist Alsu Kurmasheva.

According to U.S. prosecutors, 55-year-old Reiber, an American citizen and CEO of Oxygen Forensics, was arrested in Idaho on Sept. 20 and was later ordered released on bail. Davydov, a 52-year-old Russian citizen and co-founder and chief technology officer of the company, was arrested the same day at London’s Heathrow Airport as he was preparing to fly to Istanbul. The U.S. intends to seek his extradition.

According to court documents, Reiber told the U.S. government that Virginia-based Oxygen Forensics was not owned or controlled by foreign nationals, even though five Russian citizens, including Davydov, allegedly owned stakes in or helped manage the company through a Cyprus-registered holding company. Prosecutors also allege that Reiber falsely claimed Oxygen Forensics software was developed in the United States rather than Russia. A court in California, where the case will be heard, ordered the seizure of company accounts and more than 50 domains belonging to the business.

Court documents say that no later than March 2022, Reiber, Davydov, and others entered into a conspiracy to obtain contracts from federal agencies. The software they supplied is used to recover, preserve, and analyze electronic data from digital devices while maintaining original files in an unchanged state.

Oxygen Forensics was founded in Virginia in 2013 with the involvement of Moscow-born Davydov. Reiber joined the company two years later. In 2022, after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Oxygen Forensics executives decided to conceal information about the company’s Russian owners — references to them were removed from official corporate records, prosecutors said. Reiber was appointed CEO, president, and chairman of the board in March 2022.

How the FSB gains access to opposition figures’ phones

On June 2, 2023, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty journalist Alsu Kurmasheva was due to return to Prague from Kazan, where she had been visiting her sick mother. However, she was detained at the airport. Authorities seized her iPhone XR, and the FSB was subsequently able to access its contents, including WhatsApp messages. Her passports were also confiscated, and she was barred from leaving Russia. A year later, she was sentenced to 6.5 years in prison on charges of spreading “false information” about the Russian military under a law that is widely used against critics of the war.

According to the case materials, the FSB accessed Kurmasheva’s locked phone using a specialized program called Mobile Forensic Expert (or “Mobilny Kriminalist” in its Russian transcription), developed by Oxygen Software.

The program has long enabled the FSB to access locked phones, including newer models. Last year, for example, the FSB used the same software to unlock an iPhone 14 belonging to a Russian activist detained at the border (whose lawyers asked that his name not be published). In that instance, security officers were also able to access messages in several messaging apps.

Phone searches at the border have become routine in Russia. When the FSB takes particular interest in someone, authorities commonly detain the person on an administrative charge in order to gain access to their devices. Information found can then be used to open a criminal case.

Oxygen Software, which supplies effective software for unlocking iPhones, has therefore served both the FSB and U.S. security agencies.

A U.S.-Russian company serving the FSB

In 2000, two programmer friends, 28-year-old Oleg Fyodorov and 27-year-old Oleg Davydov, founded a company and gave it the name Oxygen (a play on “two Olegs,” which can be shortened to O2). They initially focused exclusively on foreign markets, but in 2007 they created a Russian version of the product called Mobile Forensic Expert (“Mobilny Kriminalist”). Its main purpose is to extract all available data from mobile phones.

In 2008, the two Olegs described the program on their website with pride: “Our clients include government agencies, police, the military, customs and tax services, and other government bodies. Since 2002, the program has been successfully used in more than 50 countries around the world.”

The business expanded, and by 2026 the company’s U.S. website said it was operating in 150 countries worldwide (the site is currently unavailable). Oxygen’s main selling point is its ability to retrieve information even from locked smartphones, including newer iPhone models.

Oxygen’s services have been used extensively by the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agency, which sharply expanded its activities after Donald Trump’s return to the White House in 2025. In its contract with Oxygen, ICE explicitly stated that there were no other products on the market offering comparable functionality. The U.S. Secret Service, which protects the president and vice president, also became an Oxygen customer.

The two Olegs did not publicize the fact that Oxygen and Mobile Forensic Expert were essentially the same program, but they did not go to great lengths to hide it either. Investigators with Pervy Otdel (lit. “Department One”), a Russian legal rights group, noted that both the Russian and U.S. versions received updates at the same time and had nearly identical interfaces.

The two Olegs later removed their portraits from the U.S. website, but as The Insider can confirm, they continued traveling to the United States until recently.

Rights advocates have asked the United Nations to impose emergency measures in Yemelyanova’s case by issuing a special order from the UN Human Rights Committee barring a country from extraditing a person while their case is under review. Kuchusheva said Kazakh authorities are currently coordinating with Russia on the time and place of the extradition of another Russian citizen, Chechen activist Mansur Movlaev, even though UN emergency measures are already in effect in his case. As Kuchusheva explained:

“Despite unprecedented pressure from the UN, PACE, international politicians and diplomats, Kazakhstan has nevertheless decided to commit a crime and hand Yulia [Yemelyanova] and Mansur [Movlaev] over to Russia. I am ashamed to watch a large and independent country, which had every chance to be independent and free, ingratiate itself with Russia. They know perfectly well what Chechnya is and what justice in Russia is like. They know, but they prefer to curry favor with a dictator.

We have applied for UN emergency measures, but there is no certainty that Kazakhstan will follow them. In Mansur’s case, they have effectively already ignored them by beginning to coordinate his extradition with Russia. So it is important to see how the UN responds to the fact that the emergency measures and the UN special rapporteur on human rights in Russia, Mariana Katzarova, have been ignored. If they do nothing or simply ‘express concern,’ it could set a very dangerous precedent.”

As The Insider previously reported, both Yemelyanova and Movlaev, who were detained by Kazakh authorities, wrote to President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev in July asking him to stop their extradition to Russia. Representatives of the Russian Antiwar Committee, the International Society for Human Rights (ISHR/IGFM), and the Kovcheg (lit. “Ark”) project also called on Kazakhstan’s president to halt both extraditions, release the activists, and allow them safe passage to third countries.

Earlier this month, Movlaev attempted suicide in a pretrial detention center in Kazakhstan. Doctors, however, were able to save his life. In a note written before the attempt, he asked the authorities to “at least save Yulia” by preventing her extradition to Russia. Movlaev and his defense team believe that if he is extradited, he will be killed in his home region of Chechnya.

Russian authorities have opened a criminal case against Movlaev on extortion and extremism charges, while Yemelyanova faces a theft charge.

In April, The Insider published a detailed report on the worsening situation facing anti-war Russians who seek asylum or refuge both in Western countries and in states neighboring Russia. Rights advocates interviewed for the article said Kazakhstan stood out as particularly risky, and advised Russians not to enter the country even in transit.

This is the first known conviction involving the use of Telegram Stars, though media outlets had previously reported on other cases that were opened over Stars.

According to the case file, Antonovich, who was detained in December 2025, had left Stars under posts on the channels NEVZOROV, BEREZOVIEW (Taras Berezovets) WAR IN UKRAINE, Nakipelo Michael Nacke, and Sasha Shpak Official. Investigators counted 130 Stars with a total value of 292.99 rubles $3.50.

As the Memorial Human Rights Group reports, investigators consider these channels to be involved in “propaganda of terrorism and media support for the terrorist organizations the Freedom of Russia Legion, the Russian Volunteer Corps, and the Azov Brigade, including organizing financing channels for the purchase of weapons and subsequent drone strikes on Russian territory, as well as organizing terrorist attacks on Russian soil. The content of the channels indicates that funds, including the virtual currency Telegram Stars, are monetized and subsequently directed toward financing the activities of the aforementioned terrorist organizations.”

On Sept. 22, 2026, Memorial published an appeal to Telegram founder Pavel Durov asking him to make paid reactions in the messenger anonymous and to take other measures to protect users from persecution by the Russian state.

Olimov is the owner of Anorbank. According to the latest disclosed figures, he directly owns 52.36% of the bank, while another 47.06% is held by Netherlands-registered Bekamin B.V., which is also linked to Olimov.

After The Insider’s previous report, Anorbank said that the reports concerning Olimov were related to “personal matters” and had no connection to the bank’s capital, management, or operations. Uzbekistan’s central bank said at the time that Anorbank continued to operate normally and complied with required financial standards.

According to the court order authorizing his arrest in absentia, Uzbek authorities have charged Olimov under clauses “b” and “c” of Part 2 of Article 137 of Uzbekistan’s Criminal Code — kidnapping for financial gain or other motives, committed by a group acting in prior conspiracy. The charge carries a sentence of five to 10 years in prison.

In the summer of 2025, Olimov claimed he had been kidnapped in central Paris, taken to a villa near Nice, tortured, and ordered to pay $10 million. According to his account, he was released after paying $200,000 and signing an IOU for $5 million. However, a joint investigation by The Insider and L’Express found multiple inconsistencies in Olimov’s story: after his alleged release, the financier continued to exchange friendly messages with a man he had identified as one of the kidnappers, and his ticket back to Paris was paid for by that man’s driver.

According to a source who spoke to The Insider, investigators believe Olimov may have staged his own kidnapping in order to portray his former employer and adversary in a financial dispute, Batyr Rakhimov, as the organizer of the crime. On top of that, investigators allege that Olimov later used Uzbek security officials to arrange Rakhimov’s kidnapping in an effort to force him to drop financial claims against him. Rakhimov had previously demanded more than $200 million in compensation from Olimov for assets that he said came under his former subordinate’s control on terms that were highly unfavorable to him.

An Interpol Red Notice is a request to law enforcement authorities in member countries to locate a wanted person and provisionally detain them pending extradition or another legal procedure. It is not an international arrest warrant, as each country decides whether to detain the person based on its own laws.

Polish Deputy Prime Minister Krzysztof Gawkowski said there were strong grounds to believe the fire was the result of a deliberate attempt to disable the station, which he described as “an Internet hub, also ensuring the security of the Internet in Ukraine.” Gawkowski said the station is operated by state-owned telecommunications company Exatel, which provides communications services across Poland as well as in Ukraine.

“The fire engulfed the power station and the generator; it is clear that this act of sabotage ⁠was deliberately designed to disable the station — effectively cutting off the internet connection... and disrupting internet access for various institutions, including the Ukrainian military,” Reuters quoted Gawkowski as saying.

The minister said the attempt to disable the station failed and that the system was operating normally. Gawkowski also said there was no direct evidence linking Russia to the arson, but that "many signs suggest this aligns with Russia's new doctrine ⁠of attack".

"While everything is operational today, we must recognise, as Prime Minister Tusk recently noted, that this is an element of hybrid warfare," Gawkowski added.

On Sept. 22, Polish police reported an attempted act of sabotage against railway infrastructure near the village of Jedlanka in Lukow County, where two freight trains traveling in opposite directions struck concrete blocks that someone had placed on the tracks. Neither train derailed, and no injuries were reported.

In late August, a factory owned by Polish defense company WB Electronics, which works closely with Ukraine and produces combat drones, caught fire. In June, the independent outlet Vot Tak published an investigation saying Russian recruiters were actively looking for people to carry out sabotage operations in Poland.

A source close to Lithuania’s Defense Ministry said: 

“They will use drones launched from the sea, hidden in the container of a ship; it's not difficult at all.”

Lithuanian authorities even know the type of drone involved, according to the newspaper: the Gerbera, a Russian unmanned aircraft often used as a decoy or strike drone. The UAV weighs up to 18 kilograms, can reach speeds of about 160 kilometers per hour, and has a reported range of up to 600 kilometers. Its 4- to 5-kilogram warhead would not be powerful enough to destroy a major facility, but it could still start a fire or temporarily shut down a port or airport.

Lithuania received the information shortly after CIA Director John Ratcliffe visited Moscow on Aug. 25. According to El Mundo’s sources, authorities in Spain, France, and Italy were also warned about the possibility of such an operation, while a CIA report describing the potential attack in detail was circulated among European foreign ministries. The warning coincided with a response by French President Emmanuel Macron, who convened the country’s Defense Council on Sept. 16 and, two days later, invited leaders of all political parties to the Élysée Palace. After the meeting, the French president said protection of critical infrastructure against cyberattacks and drones would be strengthened due to “hybrid threats” from Russia.

El Mundo noted that elections are scheduled in all three countries in 2027 and that radical political forces could seek to capitalize on public fear about Russian attacks and general fatigue over the war in Ukraine. On Sept. 19, the pro-Russian Telegram channel Rybar published a map of possible targets in southern France, including aircraft plants, military bases, nuclear power stations, and petrochemical complexes that it said could be within range of Geran-5 drones launched from the northern coast of Algeria.

Last week, debris from a drone and a substance that investigators believe to be explosives were found in Lower Saxony near the German military’s Wunstorf Air Base. German federal prosecutors are examining whether the discovery is connected to an attempted act of sabotage at Leipzig/Halle Airport in early August that Berlin has blamed on Russia. In that incident, a drone fitted with a detonator was found there near a Ukrainian transport aircraft.

The father of Jūlija Stepaņenko, the leader of Latvia’s Sovereign Power (Suverēnā vara, SV) party, is Russian businessman Sergei Fedotov. He owns majority stakes in two companies in Solnechnogorsk, outside Moscow — Forma ZhBI LLC and PLK Forma LLC. Both are family businesses. Sergei’s wife, Irina Fedotova, and his daughter, Anna Makarovskaya, are also listed as shareholders.

Stepaņenko previously said that her father lives in Russia and provides financial support to her family, but she did not disclose his identity. Her financial declarations list two large gifts from him worth a combined 419,598 euros. In October 2022, she declared 239,598 euros in cash, and in January 2024 she was gifted an apartment in Riga from her father worth 180,000 euros.

The Insider identified Stepanenko’s father as 72-year-old Sergei Alexeievich Fedotov, a businessman from Solnechnogorsk.

Fedotov owns 73.45% of PLK Forma and 72.68% of Forma ZhBI. The latter manufactures concrete, mortar, reinforced-concrete products, and landscaping elements, while PLK Forma is involved in construction and in the management and leasing of commercial real estate, including industrial, warehouse, and office space.

It is a sizable family business. From 2021 through 2024, Fedotov’s two companies generated annual revenue of 550 million to 680 million rubles ($6.9 million to $8 million). In 2024, they earned nearly 120 million rubles ($1.4 million) in net profit. However, the figures fell sharply in 2025, when combined revenue dropped to 235 million rubles ($2.8 million) and a small loss replaced the previous profit.

Fedotov’s businesses were not limited to civilian construction. At the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Forma ZhBI reported that it had produced around 2,000 “dragon’s teeth” and tetrapods — concrete anti-tank obstacles. They were sent to Russian-occupied parts of Donbas and Russia’s Belgorod Region, which borders Ukraine and saw multiple incursions by Ukrainian-backed armed groups in 2023 and 2024. The company also said it supplied stoves to the Russian military.

In August, Fedotov’s company was visited by Viktor Bout, an arms dealer who was convicted in the United States in 2011 before being released in a 1-for-1 prisoner swap for WNBA player Brittney Griner in 2022. The visit took place during Bout’s campaign for the State Duma as a candidate from the nationalist Liberal Democratic Party of Russia (LDPR). Footage aired by Russian television showed Fedotov giving Bout a tour of the business and sitting beside him. During the visit, Bout said Russia was “sometimes in a hybrid war, sometimes in an open war” and called for bureaucratic obstacles to be removed so that important infrastructure could be protected.

In an interview with The Insider, Fedotov confirmed that he is indeed Jūlija Stepaņenko’s father. He also confirmed that he transferred all of his Latvian assets to his daughter after the country’s border was closed to Russian citizens.

“I honestly bought an apartment [in Riga] so I wouldn’t have to bother my daughter and so I could see my grandchildren more often. I paid taxes, but when it became impossible to travel there, I gave the apartment to my daughter,” Fedotov said.

“I would like to remind you that I was born in Latvia, lived there for almost 25 years, graduated from university, worked under the [Soviet] job-assignment system and was drafted into the army by the Riga military enlistment office as a reserve officer. I served in military construction units and built purely civilian facilities.

After that, there was nowhere to return to because the political situation had changed. For some reason, I had already become an occupier and so on. So I was forced to stay here in the Moscow region and start my own business, which is what I still do today.

All that time, I traveled to Latvia without any problems. I had a long-term visa. My parents, grandparents, and aunt are buried there.

Today I have been deprived of the ability both to see my daughter there and to visit the graves of relatives.”

On Sept. 5, The Insider tried to speak with Stepaņenko at a campaign tent in Riga. She declined to comment, saying she gives interviews to national media but that, given the current geopolitical situation, she needed to consider whether she should speak to a foreign outlet.

Stepaņenko has led Sovereign Power since 2022 and is the Sovereign Power/Young Latvians Union alliance’s candidate for prime minister. She campaigns on “family values,” opposes financial aid to Ukraine, and has said both sides in the conflict bear responsibility for the start of the war.

In its 2025 report, Latvia’s State Security Service (VDD) named three parties that it said had worked most actively to deepen the isolation of Russian-speaking residents: Stability!, Sovereign Power, and the Latvian Russian Union. The VDD assessed that their activities contributed to Russia’s strategic objectives.

Latvia’s parliamentary election is scheduled for Oct. 3. According to the latest SKDS poll, Prime Minister Andris Kulbergs’ United List leads with 15.2%, followed by Stepaņenko’s Sovereign Power/Young Latvians Union alliance with 11.8%. The Progressives, Latvia First, New Unity, and the National Alliance follow.

The left-right divide in Latin America has its own peculiarities, with geography, class, race, and historical trauma all intertwined. It is the region with the highest inequality in the world. The right has traditionally served as a shield for landowners, transnational corporations, and big business, while the left has called for a greater role for the state, particularly when it comes to the redistribution of wealth.

This economic foundation is linked to “pigmentocracy,” in which a person’s social class often correlates with their skin color. White and light-skinned mestizos are more likely to make up the economic and political elite, while Afro-Latin Americans and Indigenous people are predominantly poor. The picture is further complicated by a geographic divide between wealthy, globalized megacities and coastal areas.

Over the past two decades, traditional class conflict in Latin America has also been complicated by culture wars. The conservative right, backed by the conservative wing of the Catholic Church and rapidly growing neo-Pentecostal (Evangelical) churches, faces liberal Catholic “liberation theology” and secular urban leftists with a progressive agenda focused on feminism, LGBT rights, and the legalization of abortion.

Every country is different

Each country, of course, has its own particularities. In Peru, the conflict has a pronounced territorial and ethnic dimension. Lima’s white and mestizo financial elites, along with the country's coastal elites, have integrated into the global economy and tend to side with the right. Opposing them is a left-wing camp made up largely of Indigenous people, peasants, and miners from the Andes and the south. People in these areas feel that resources are extracted from their lands while the profits all end up in the capital.

In Chile, the divide stems from the country’s economic model and the legacy of dictatorship. The right defends the Pinochet-era constitution, while the left calls for taking basic resources such as water out of private hands while creating a welfare state that provides free education and healthcare.

In Colombia, the divide has been shaped by drug trafficking and 60 years of civil war. Against this backdrop, the right dominated for decades by appealing to demands for stability and security. Its electoral base consists of traditional elites, big agribusiness, and regions that suffered heavily at the hands of the left-wing FARC guerrillas.

In Brazil, polarization is expressed through the struggle between Lulism and Bolsonarism, representing the left- and right-wing ideologies of the current and former presidents. A territorial and economic divide splits the country between the wealthy, industrial South and Southeast and the poorer, agricultural Northeast. The South and Southeast tend to vote for the right out of fear that rule from the left will mean corruption and a bloated bureaucracy. The Northeast, meanwhile, is a rock-solid base for the Workers’ Party, whose supporters see left-wing social programs as literally a matter of survival.

The deep domestic hostility in these countries, where different segments of society fear one another more than external enemies, can be traced to the history of Latin American statehood. In the 20th century, these countries fought virtually no major interstate wars. Their armed forces and security apparatus were therefore built not to repel foreign invasions but to suppress uprisings and maintain internal control.

While European right-wing leaders such as Marine Le Pen and Giorgia Meloni build their agendas around an “external threat” in the form of migrants and the EU’s supranational institutions, their Latin American counterparts direct their anger at domestic enemies. A study of speeches and social media posts by right-wing leaders in the 2020s shows that crime and security are central themes in Latin America, with domestic left-wing forces, courts, and human rights organizations cast as the main villains.

The right fears that a left-wing victory would mean a guaranteed path to “Venezuelization,” with its expropriations, hyperinflation, and institutional collapse. The left, in turn, has equally well-founded fears of the right, remembering the military dictatorships, thousands of “disappeared” (Desaparecidos), and death squads that used extreme violence to protect elite interests.

The right fears “Venezuelization,” with its expropriations and hyperinflation; the left fears brutal military dictatorships

This paranoia is fueled by centuries of internal colonialism, in which elites viewed their own Indigenous and poor populations not as equal citizens, but as savages and sources of cheap labor to be controlled or “civilized.” For the right, patriotism comes down to Catholicism or Evangelicalism, the flag, and the military; for the left, it means Indigenous rights, anti-imperialism, and defending sovereignty against transnational corporations.

Roots of disillusionment with the left

The political cycle that began in 2021–2022 with left-wing presidents taking office in Chile (Gabriel Boric), Peru (Pedro Castillo), and Colombia (and Gustavo Petro) failed to meet voters’ expectations for sweeping social reforms.

In Colombia, Petro’s “Total Peace” initiative, which envisioned dialogue with drug cartels and rebel groups, instead coincided with economic stagnation and a deteriorating security situation. In 2025, kidnappings exceeded 700 cases. The security crisis triggered an electoral shift that culminated in right-wing candidate Abelardo de la Espriella’s victory in the 2026 election.

In Peru, Castillo’s presidency ended in a protracted confrontation with the opposition-controlled Congress and corruption investigations into his inner circle. On Dec. 7, 2022, seeking to preempt another impeachment proceeding, Castillo announced that he was dissolving Congress and declaring a state of emergency. Congress ignored the decree, the move was ruled unconstitutional, and Castillo was arrested on rebellion charges as he tried to seek refuge in the Mexican Embassy.

In Chile, the effort to rewrite the Pinochet-era constitution proved to be a setback for the governing bloc. In 2022, 62% of voters rejected a new constitution backed by President Gabriel Boric and the left. The document, which enshrined the concept of a “plurinational state,” Indigenous autonomy, and sweeping social guarantees, was seen by a significant share of the population as a threat to national unity and economic stability. The left’s referendum defeat paved the way for the ultraconservative Republican Party led by José Antonio Kast, who took power this past March.

In Argentina, years of center-left Peronist dominance drove annual inflation into the triple digits and ended in late 2023 with the election of Javier Milei as president. His campaign centered on fierce criticism of the political establishment and promises of economic “shock therapy” to cut the budget deficit.

In El Salvador, the failure of previous administrations to tackle organized crime led to the emergence of a hard-line model of governance. President Nayib Bukele declared a state of emergency in order to combat crime. A sharp decline in homicides, achieved through mass arrests and restrictions on civil rights, won the government high public support, and the approach became a model for right-wing politicians in neighboring countries.

In Brazil, conservative populism has become institutionalized as a durable political force. Despite left-wing candidate Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva’s victory in the 2022 election, former President Jair Bolsonaro’s movement retains considerable influence. The movement consolidated its electoral base and controls a significant share of Congress and regional governments, substantially constraining the current government’s ability to implement its left-wing agenda.

From a source of migration to hostility toward migrants

The fact that Latin Americans support Donald Trump’s hard-line anti-immigration rhetoric and ICE raids, which regularly target their own compatriots living in the United States, seems paradoxical only at first glance. Latin American society is deeply divided. An Argentine middle-class professional or Brazilian farmer may not be offended by aggressive claims about “illegals” storming the Texas border due to the fact they simply do not identify with the poor people fleeing to the U.S.

Right-wing segments of society in Chile, Colombia, Peru, and Brazil – particularly the middle class and affluent coastal residents – have long been accustomed to culturally distancing themselves from poorer compatriots, measuring themselves against European or North American standards. Because migration flows consist predominantly of poor mestizo, Indigenous, or Afro-Latin American people, conservatives view those who leave through the familiar lens of “pigmentocracy,” with undisguised class and racial contempt. To them, poor labor migrants belong to the same hostile social class that votes for left-wing populists at home do. As a result, right-wing Latin American media readily recycle Republican talking points, portraying migrants not as victims of structural poverty but as a criminal mass bringing shame on their homeland from abroad.

Right-wing media portray migrants not as victims of structural poverty but as a criminal mass that shames their homeland abroad

Colombia, Peru, and Chile have taken in millions of Venezuelan refugees, and while locals welcomed the first waves with sympathy, later arrivals became targets of accusations that they were straining social systems and driving up crime. In Chile and Peru, calls for the immediate deportation of undocumented migrants, the militarization of border areas, and border closures have consequently become political tools for the right. When local voters hear Trump talk about “building a wall,” they project the idea onto their own borders, demanding similarly tough measures.

The process is particularly visible in Colombia, where the number of Venezuelan migrants rose from 78,000 in 2015 to 2.7 million by 2023. In 2016, 66% of Colombians said they would be comfortable having a migrant as a neighbor, but by 2019, that figure had fallen to 45%. Unfavorable attitudes toward Venezuelan migrants entering the country reached levels of 70% in 2023.

Between two-thirds and three-quarters of the populations of Ecuador, Peru, and Colombia, where more than 70% of the over seven million Venezuelans who have left the country have settled, believe that immigration lowers wages and worsens working conditions for locals. About 70% of respondents in Peru, Colombia, and Chile associate the influx of Venezuelans with rising crime, even though statistics show that Venezuelan migrants commit violent crimes far less often than the native population in all of the Latin American countries that have received them.

Against this backdrop, a recent UNHCR Return Intentions Survey, conducted in early 2026 among Venezuelan refugees in Ecuador, Peru, Chile, Brazil, and Colombia, found a new trend: about one-third (33%) of respondents are already considering returning home in the coming years. They cite growing xenophobia and difficulties obtaining legal status among the reasons for leaving.

Faced with this crisis, South America has found political support for Washington’s tough measures. Several countries in the region have joined the U.S. “Shield of the Americas” initiative, which is intended to stop migrant caravans well before they reach the U.S. border.

Migration is also rising in Chile, increasingly alarming local residents. Nearly 80% of Chileans believe the border should be closed to new immigration until existing problems are resolved. Chileans also support Trump-like measures, especially when it comes to deploying the military to the border (76%) and deporting undocumented immigrants (73%). The situation is similar in Peru, where an IEP poll found that a majority (83%) view the arrival of Venezuelans negatively. Only 4% view it positively.

Even in Latin American countries that have not experienced large influxes of Venezuelan refugees, right-wing politicians are seeking to mobilize conservative voters and stoke anti-immigrant sentiment in order to strengthen their political standing. Javier Milei’s government is deliberately breaking with Argentina’s longstanding tradition of openness, shifting migration from the realm of human rights to that of national security, creating an atmosphere of xenophobia in the process. Officials use aggressive rhetoric, linking foreigners to “chaos and abuse.” Authorities urge citizens to report undocumented migrants through a security hotline, stigmatizing immigrant communities.

As part of this strategy, the government issued an emergency decree that streamlined deportations even for minor offenses and expanded authorities’ power to detain foreigners for up to 60 days at any stage of legal proceedings. The government also manipulates economic data. For example, officials claim that millions are being spent on healthcare for foreigners without providing any evidence. Such arguments are nevertheless used to justify ending free healthcare and education for nonresidents. Despite the reality that migrants account for a historic low of 4.2% of the population, the Argentine government continues to promote a narrative of a “mass influx,”  using migration policy as a form of ideological performance to strengthen ties with right-wing movements in the U.S. and Europe.

Solidarity has led to a dead end

The Latin American left often suffers from excessive “professional solidarity,” refusing to acknowledge the authoritarian nature of the regimes in Venezuela, Cuba, or Nicaragua. The identity of the old-school Latin American left is built around radical anti-imperialism rather than the defense of democratic procedures. In the 20th century, Washington systematically backed right-wing military dictatorships and sponsored coups. For the Latin American left, the U.S. remains the ultimate threat, and any leader who challenges Washington is automatically seen as a historic ally.

As a result, a deeply entrenched bloc mentality has taken hold across the region. Latin America’s left-wing elites view human rights almost exclusively through a geopolitical lens. They demand that abuses by right-wing governments be investigated immediately by international tribunals, and they justify authoritarian practices by socialist regimes as a response to Western economic pressure and a necessary defense of national sovereignty. The same considerations even lead left-wing governments to turn a blind eye to the crimes of Putin’s regime when doing so helps counter the influence of their closer and more threatening North American neighbor.

Trump for the poor

South America’s political landscape has been filled up with “mini-Trumps” who use aggressive theatrics and grand gestures to mobilize voters exhausted by criminal chaos and economic decline. The most grotesque embodiment of this style is Colombian millionaire Abelardo de la Espriella, who came to power in August.

A political newcomer with three citizenships, he turned his rallies into pyrotechnic spectacles. De la Espriella appeared before crowds behind bulletproof glass, cultivating the image of a besieged hero. Emulating Trump, he deliberately clashed with the mainstream media, filing more than 100 lawsuits against journalists and outlets over their criticism of him. His ostentatious contempt for journalists, especially women, only strengthened his support among voters seeking a “strong hand.”

For years, Trump has sold merchandise bearing his name, from the iconic red “MAGA” caps to ties and fragrances. De la Espriella has brought the same business model to Latin America. He personally promotes premium sausage, rum, olive oil, wine, and perfume under his De la Espriella brand. He also publishes books and puts out music albums on which he performs popular songs himself. He regularly posts videos of himself in a tuxedo and bow tie singing Italian pop classics, posing against backdrops of mansions and expensive antiques. De la Espriella has made “The Tiger” his official alter ego. He even signs documents that way and promotes the brand on social media and in his campaign imagery.

Like Trump, who relishes his image as commander in chief despite never having served in the military, de la Espriella regularly appears in public giving conspicuous military salutes and standing at attention (he too has never served in the armed forces).

The Colombian president openly surrounds himself with imposing-looking bodyguards carrying briefcases straight out of Hollywood gangster movies. He smokes expensive cigars, wears exclusive custom-made three-piece suits, and goes out of his way to project the image of a “dangerous and wealthy alpha male” challenging the establishment. His rhetoric toward his left-wing opponents ahead of the 2026 election verged on calls for physical violence – he vowed to “gut” Marxism and put an end to outgoing president Gustavo Petro’s “narco-communist tyranny.”

The Colombian president goes out of his way to project himself as a “dangerous and wealthy alpha male” challenging the establishment

“Given his extraordinary achievements in life and his political support for me personally, it is a great honor to give Abelardo my full and unconditional support,” Trump said of de la Espriella in June during the Colombian presidential campaign. Immediately after the election, Trump gave him a billion dollars in aid.

In Chile, José Antonio Kast simply copied the best ideas from his idol. His supporters flooded the streets in red caps emblazoned with “Make Chile Great Again,” turning the country into an ideological outpost of the MAGA movement. Just five days after his inauguration in March 2026, Kast made a highly publicized trip to the northern border in the Atacama Desert. With TV cameras rolling, he launched work on a project to dig 11 kilometers of trenches and build concrete barriers topped with electrified barbed wire.

Keiko Fujimori’s election campaign in Peru provided another example of the “Trump playbook" at work in Latin America. The most striking parallel was her rejection of the 2021 election results. After narrowly losing, Fujimori claimed without evidence that there had been “systemic fraud” and sought to annul around 200,000 votes. International observers and commentators directly compared this with Donald Trump’s attempts to overturn the results of the 2020 U.S. election. This method of delegitimizing institutions became the foundation of her political style, built around mobilizing supporters with the rhetoric of a “stolen victory.”

Direct intervention in South American elections

Under Trump, the U.S. returned to a policy of overt intervention in Latin American affairs, which researchers describe as a “new Monroe Doctrine.” Unlike previous administrations, the Trump team stopped hiding its objectives and adopted a strategy of “suppressing the left and supporting the right,” with the MAGA movement treating Latin American countries as a direct territorial extension of the United States.

The foundation of this influence was a transnational network, coordinated through the expansion of the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) and the signing of the so-called “Madrid Charter” by far-right parties in Europe and the Americas. This gave formerly marginal political forces access to U.S. social-media manipulation techniques and Republican Party resources.

CPAC networks fostered a layer of hundreds of “political micro-entrepreneurs” – influencers who spread the movement’s ideas, put pressure on opponents, and wage “culture wars” modeled on the work of American podcasters. CPAC thus became not just a forum for debate but a technology hub.

This enabled right-wing forces in Chile, Colombia, and Peru to wage aggressive campaigns amid a “temporal asymmetry”: the left offered long-term change, while the right offered flashy digital spectacles and promises to restore order. Through these networks, José Antonio Kast, Keiko Fujimori, and Abelardo de la Espriella forged close informal ties with Trump’s circle, allowing them to portray themselves as White House favorites at home long before their electoral victories.

Nasry “Tito” Asfura’s victory in the 2025 Honduran presidential election provided another example of how overt pressure from Washington can shift the electoral balance in Central America. Long before election day, the White House turned the campaign into an instrument of direct geopolitical coercion. Donald Trump publicly endorsed the National Party candidate and threatened to cut off all financial and economic assistance to the country if the right lost, effectively presenting voters with a stark ultimatum. Experts note that the unprecedented pressure from Washington undermined the legitimacy of the entire electoral process.

In addition to threats to cut off aid, the White House deployed high-profile political levers, including the controversial pardon of former President Juan Orlando Hernández, an Asfura ally and fellow party member. Hernández was serving a lengthy sentence in the U.S. for drug trafficking. The move sent an unmistakable signal to local elites that the rules of the game had changed and that unconditional loyalty to the outside power center was required.

For Asfura’s camp, securing Trump administration support became the main tool of political survival and voter mobilization. With the country’s economy heavily dependent on foreign markets and remittances, Honduran right-wing leaders willingly cast themselves as conduits for Washington’s interests. The culminationation was the creation in March 2026 of the previously mentioned military-political bloc, the “Shield of the Americas” (ACCC), bringing together 17 countries under US. .leadership to combat “narco-communism.”

No longer Catholic?

As recently as the 1970s, more than 90% of the continent’s population identified as Catholic, but the picture has changed. Across the region, the share of evangelical Protestants and Pentecostals has risen to 20% on average. In Brazil, it has surpassed 30%, up from barely 5% half a century ago. In Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador, it stands at around 40–50%.

For decades, the traditional Catholic Church flirted with left-wing ideas. At one point, Latin American priests embraced “liberation theology” en masse, calling for structural reforms, criticizing capitalism, and justifying social protests by the poor.

Protestant preachers offered a fundamentally different approach. They brought prosperity theology and the concept of perpetual spiritual warfare to the region. Their black-and-white ideology divides the world into absolute good and demonic forces. People are expected to pursue financial success, defend the traditional family, and reject liberal innovations.

Evangelical congregants have become an effective foot force for mobilizing around the “culture wars” agenda: defending the traditional family while opposing abortion, LGBTQ+ rights,  the feminist movement, and what right-wing leaders refer to as “narco-communism.”

For outsider right-wing politicians such as Jair Bolsonaro and Javier Milei, who often lack the backing of established party machines, evangelical and Pentecostal communities have become a ready-made organizational structure. Pastors act as “intermediaries,” giving political leaders access to a large, disciplined audience through their churches and communication channels.

In Argentina, Javier Milei used the same trick. His La Libertad Avanza party had virtually no local presence in poor provinces or in the working-class suburbs of Buenos Aires, but local evangelical pastors became his informal campaigners. They saw Milei as a defender against progressive reforms and the legalization of abortion. In the end, church networks delivered his ballots to areas where no libertarian activist would have dared to go.

Church networks delivered Milei’s ballots to areas where no libertarian activist would have dared to go

Their direct political influence is growing as a result. The Protestant bloc in Brazil’s National Congress, known as the Evangelical Parliamentary Front, controls 35% of the seats, and its members hold 213 of the 513 spots in the lower house. They were instrumental in the presidential victory of Trump ally Bolsonaro.

Chile’s parliament now officially has an “evangelical bench” (bancada evangélica), a group of ultraconservative lawmakers in the lower house. Without their votes, the right-wing camp cannot form a majority.

Colombia’s megachurches operate as mobilization networks. Their pastors can deliver hundreds of thousands of coordinated votes for the right-wing candidate of their choice.

Traditional politicians understand this arithmetic and are forced to pledge allegiance to conservative values in exchange for access to the church-going electorate. In Peru’s elections, for example, the far-right Popular Renewal party embraced religious fundamentalism, and seats in parliament went to actual pastors from evangelical megachurches. Together with conservatives from the Fujimorist party, evangelical lawmakers consistently form an informal bloc of 15–20 legislators – enough to paralyze progressive education reforms and force out ministers they oppose.

Evangelical churches are a political channel for exporting Trumpism. The explosive growth of Protestantism on the continent began during the Cold War with direct support from Washington. Missionaries from conservative southern U.S. states deliberately traveled to Latin America. For Republican administrations at the time, this was an elegant way to fight communism and the left-wing Catholic “liberation theology.”

The American right continues to openly fund the continent’s conservative turn. Investigators at the openDemocracy organization found that evangelical foundations linked to Donald Trump have poured about $280 million in “dark money” into global far-right campaigns. A huge share of these funds has gone to Latin America, fueling campaigns against the legalization of abortion, attacks on minorities, and efforts to block left-wing initiatives.

Why has Trump had such success in Latin America?

Unlike Europe, Canada, or Australia, Latin America has become the only region where Donald Trump has achieved sustained success in advancing his interests and helping his allies win power. In wealthy countries, right-wing radicalism runs up against strong institutions, functioning welfare states, and an established elite consensus. 

One key factor has been the absence of a “cordon sanitaire” in Latin American countries. In Europe and other developed democracies, mainstream right-wing parties often maintain such a political barrier, refusing to ally with radical populists in order to protect democratic institutions. In Latin America, by contrast, figures such as Javier Milei, José Antonio Kast, and Abelardo de la Espriella have carried out a “hostile takeover” of the traditional right, control of old party structures. Local elites chose to abandon their commitment to institutions in pursuit of a quick return to power. This allowed Trumpism to become government policy in a number of countries.

The financial and military stick has also played an important role. Countries in the region depend on the U.S. for access to loans from the IMF, World Bank, and Inter-American Development Bank. The Trump administration has actively used its veto power in these institutions to reward loyal leaders, as it did with loans to Milei and Bukele, and to punish left-wing opponents. In Canada and Europe, such U.S. economic coercion is far more limited because of their greater economic self-sufficiency.

With the region’s old party systems and traditional media in a state of collapse, voters have become highly vulnerable to manipulation on social media. The CPAC and Steve Bannon networks have given local leaders access to technologies that allow prejudices to “go viral,” while yesterday’s political outcasts can use TikTok and Instagram to reinvent themselves as messianic heroes. Latin America has thus become an ideal testing ground for Trump and Trumpism. 

The show, titled “Wine Cabaret,” is running at Bely Mys. It premiered Sept. 12, with the final performance scheduled for Oct. 10. The event combines cabaret, wine tasting, and a gastronomic dinner:

“Wine reveals itself onstage through music, dance, circus arts, acrobatics, live vocals, lighting, visual imagery, and gastronomy,” according to the description on the show’s website.

Tickets cost between 25,000 and 60,000 rubles ($295 to just over $700).

The wine center itself has previously been linked to Putin’s inner circle. The Bely Mys website domain is owned by a company belonging to a friend of Putin’s from his youth at the Yavara-Neva judo club, The Insider reported this past June. The editorial team also established a link between the new show and other figures close to Putin: the company organizing it is owned by Svetlana Krivonogikh, who was named in a 2020 investigation by the independent outlet Proekt as being the mother of one of Putin’s daughters. In 2016, before the past romantic connection between Putin and Krivonogikh had become known, The Insider identified her as one of the “close acquaintances” who accompanied the then-FSB Director on flights between Moscow and St. Petersburg in 1999.

The current show has been organized by the team behind Leningrad Center, an entertainment venue and performing arts theater housed in the historic former Leningrad cinema building in St. Petersburg’s Tavrichesky Garden. The center’s legal entity is the aptly named LLC Profit (ООО «Профит»). Three-quarters of the company is owned by LLC Relax (ООО «Релакс»), which is wholly owned by Krivonogikh.

Leningrad Center has repeatedly faced criticism over what some viewers described as excessive sexualization in its productions. Its 2021 show LoveSick was billed as the “most provocative and explicit” production staged at the venue, promising audiences “the aftertaste of encounters with a seductive 1930s cabaret dancer, a Victorian courtesan, or a model from Andy Warhol’s studio.” Another production, “Favorites of the Moon,” starred the American actress and former Playboy model Carmen Electra, who had previously performed with the erotic revue Crazy Horse Paris at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Audience reviews complained that the show mixed “theater, circus, musical, and striptease, but all of them half-baked,” as well as featuring “unjustified bare breasts” among the performers. Social media posts from “Wine Cabaret” indirectly suggest that the same style has been retained.

Bely Mys, Russia’s largest wine-themed entertainment complex, is located on the waterfront in Gelendzhik. It includes a wine museum, an enoteca boasting the country’s largest collection of Russian wines, more than 10 restaurants, a movie theater, a Wine Academy, and even a civil registry office where marriage certificates can be signed. The complex also has its own yacht marina.

In 2024, the independent Russian investigative outlet Agentstvo reported that companies linked to Vladimir Putin were involved in building the complex. Developer Veles-Stroy had worked on the reconstruction of “Putin’s palace” at Cape Idokopas, while Alexei Borodin, director contractor Politekhstroy-Svargo, had previously served as an aide to the presidential envoy to the Volga Federal District. The project’s main investor is Bank Rossiya — which is controlled by billionaire Yuri Kovalchuk, another one of Putin’s close personal friends. Bely Mys uses the wine.ru domain, which belongs to Bastion, a company whose beneficiary until the end of 2023 was Taimuraz Bolloyev, a friend of Putin’s from the Yavara-Neva judo club.

The remaining restrictions were extended for three years, through Sept. 22, 2029. The existing measures cover more than 3,000 individuals and entities that Brussels says are linked to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

The document separately notes that the council “decided not to renew the listings of three individuals and one entity.” The council statement did not name those delisted, but their identities appear in a document published in the EU’s Official Journal. They are:

• Alisher Usmanov, founder of USM Holdings;
• Mikhail Fridman, co-founder of Alfa Group;
• Andrei Falaleev, former rector of Vernadsky Crimean Federal University;
• and Redbird Corporate Services Ltd, a company linked to a vessel belonging to Russia’s “shadow fleet,” the network of ships used to transport Russian oil and other cargo while evading Western sanctions and a price cap designed to limit the Kremlin’s revenue amid the ongoing war.

Multiple media outlets and international news agencies had previously reported that EU countries were discussing the removal of the 62-year-old Fridman and 73-year-old Usmanov from the sanctions list, with reports appearing in The Guardian, Euronews, and Reuters. France and Slovakia had sought Usmanov’s removal, according to the Financial Times, while Luxembourg supported lifting sanctions on Fridman. Latvia was among the countries that opposed the moves.

A spokesperson for Ireland, which currently holds the rotating presidency of the EU Council, told The Guardian that the decision was the result of a “difficult compromise” — one that saw the above-mentioned figures removed from the list in exchange for a procedural switch that will significantly extend the time between renewals of the larger sanctions regime:

“Until now, these listings have been reviewed and assessed on a six-monthly basis; today’s decision to renew on a 36-month basis enhances the durability and predictability of the EU sanctions framework.”

Uzbekistan-born Usmanov, who according to Forbes has a net worth of $14 billion (placing him 224th on its list of global billionaires as of Sept. 23), amassed his wealth in the mining, industry, telecoms, and media sectors. He was sanctioned by both the EU and the U.S., as well as Canada, the UK, and multiple other countries in the wake of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

In its sanctions announcement, the EU described Usmanov as having “particularly close ties to Russian President Vladimir Putin” and referred to him as “one of Vladimir Putin’s favorite oligarchs.” Usmanov has denied any association with Putin.

A number of court cases involving Usmanov in Germany have seen the oligarch get the upper hand, with a court in Hamburg upholding a libel lawsuit filed by the billionaire against the newspaper Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ) this past January. Prosecutors in Munich dropped an investigation into suspected sanctions violations by Usmanov after he made a sizeable charitable payment in 2025, while the Frankfurt am Main public prosecutor’s office closed a separate money laundering investigation into the billionaire in November 2024 after he paid a fine of €4 million.

The Ukraine-born Fridman, co-founder of Alfa Bank, Russia’s largest privately owned bank, has an estimated net worth of $16.6 billion, according to Forbes, which puts him 175th on in its list of global billionaires. Fridman, who also holds Israeli citizenship, was first sanctioned by the European Union on Feb. 28, 2022, four days after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. He was added to the same sanctions list as Usmanov. The UK followed on March 15, 2022, while the United States designated him on Aug. 11, 2023.

After the invasion, Fridman stepped down from his Luxembourg-based holding company LetterOne and also reduced his stake. British authorities have frozen his London properties, including the Athlone House estate, valued at around $100 million.

Fridman founded commodities trader Alfa-Eco in 1989 with entrepreneurs German Khan and Alexei Kuzmichev. The group later formed oil venture TNK-BP by uniting with British energy giant BP in 2003 before selling its stake in 2013 in a deal that brought Fridman about $5.1 billion in cash. Ukraine opened a criminal case against Fridman in August 2023 over alleged fraud linked to Alfa Bank Ukraine and placed him on an international wanted list that December.

In the latest incident, a farmer discovered a drone broken into several pieces near the Wunstorf military airfield. A few days later, police discovered a suspicious substance just a few meters away. According to German journalists, investigators are operating on the assumption that they are dealing with explosive material; however, forensic analysis of the substance has not yet been completed.

The drone found at Wunstorf is similar in design to those used in the attempted attack on Leipzig/Halle Airport. At least one of its components was made on a 3D printer. Investigators also suspect that the drone may have been lying near the base for an extended period of time — potentially as long as two years.

Wunstorf is a key base for Germany’s military transport aviation, hosting the 62nd Air Transport Wing and all 53 of the German Air Force’s Airbus A400M aircraft, according to Bundeswehr data. Germany received its 53rd and final A400M in April 2026. The Bundeswehr itself describes the A400M as the backbone of Germany’s military transport aviation.

It remains to be determined whether the two drone incidents are connected. Overnight into Aug. 5, a drone carrying explosives and a detonator was discovered in Leipzig. Investigators believe the target may have been Ukrainian cargo planes. In early September, the German government officially blamed Russia for the attempted attack, citing the results of a police investigation and intelligence data. Moscow denied any involvement.

Investigators have identified two suspects in the Leipzig case. One of them, Oleg L., a Latvian citizen with a Russian passport, had maintained contact with Russian military intelligence for years, including with Colonel Denis Smolyaninov of the Main Intelligence Directorate (GRU), according to reporting by Süddeutsche Zeitung, NDR, and WDR.

A spokesperson for the Federal Prosecutor General’s Office declined to comment on details of the investigation into the more recent Wunstorf incident. Nevertheless, the drone discovered there was discussed on Tuesday at the weekly meeting of the heads of Germany’s security services at the Federal Chancellery.

Officials are also discussing cutting Saxony-Anhalt off from intelligence on Russian subversive activity in Europe and from investigations into far-right groups, including the AfD itself. German law enforcement authorities have officially classified the AfD branch in Saxony-Anhalt as “right-wing extremist,” and it is being monitored, including by undercover agents.

According to the Times, Germany’s allies — including Poland and some of the Nordic countries — have voiced concerns about the potential for the AfD to leak sensitive information to Moscow. Berlin assured them that it is preparing restrictions, but did not specify exactly which data the state would stop receiving. Germany’s Defense Ministry said it is assessing what information needs to be protected.

Meanwhile, AfD spokesperson Jork Herrmann said: “It would be utterly undemocratic and impossible to justify to voters to withhold intelligence information from the party based on unsubstantiated and unprovable allegations.”

Defense Minister Boris Pistorius had promised even before the election not to share military intelligence with an AfD-led government.

As The Insider previously found, a week before the decree JSC L.E.V. was headed by former Ministry of Internal Affairs general Andrei Krayushkin, while the JSC itself was still listed among the ready-made shell companies available for purchase for 450,000 rubles ($5,340) — with the option to replace the CEO and complete the deal “same-day.”

The business outlet Kommersant reported Berdnikov’s appointment, citing Auchan’s press service. The previous CEO, Asya Balabai, will remain with the company as executive director.

Berdnikov held the post of executive director at Rosimushchestvo starting from December 2024, the paper writes, citing information from his social media accounts. Previously, he worked at the X5 retail group, the Georgian winemaker Askaneli, and the Canadian construction company Bothwell Accurate Co., and also developed the startup SolidRobots in Canada.

A Kommersant source in the retail market claims that previous CEO Balabai will in fact continue to run day-to-day operations, while Berdnikov will oversee the company. L.E.V. Management head Andrei Krayushkin, meanwhile, will manage the overall process without a formal job title at Auchan.

On Sept. 17, Putin placed the Russian assets of Auchan and Nestlé (along with those of several other companies) under the temporary authority of L.E.V. Management. The Insider found that L.E.V. Management was registered only in October 2024, with charter capital of 15,000 rubles ($178). In 2025 it had no revenue, posted a net loss of 15,000 rubles ($178), and had an average headcount of one employee.

On Sept. 10, one week before Putin’s decree, Andrei Krayushkin — the former first deputy head of Russia’s Main Directorate for Migration Affairs and a police major general — became CEO of L.E.V. Management.

After the assets were transferred, L.E.V. Management said it intended to keep Auchan operating as a single retail chain and to ensure that stores continued running without interruption. No leadership changes have yet been reported at the other companies placed under L.E.V.’s management. At Lemana PRO (formerly Leroy Merlin), the temporary administrator promised to preserve the existing management system and current senior leadership. Nestlé’s Russian division also continues to operate under executive director Denis Voityuk.

The mechanism for placing foreign assets under temporary management has been in effect in Russia since April 2023. Formally, the foreign owner retains ownership rights, but the structure appointed by Russian authorities receives broad powers to manage the assets. This scheme was previously applied to the Russian businesses of Danone and Carlsberg, which subsequently lost control of their companies in Russia.

Precinct commission No. 8158 covered voting locations in the coastal cities of Paphos and Limassol, as well as the Russian Embassy in the country’s capital, Nicosia. According to official data from the Russian Central Election Commission, 15,843 people voted at the precinct, where the ruling United Russia party received 10,897 votes — 68.78% overall. The LDPR came second with 1,095 votes (6.91%), the Communist Party was third with 954 (6.02%), New People was fourth with 785 (5.95%), and A Just Russia was fifth with 695 (4.39%).

Those results differ sharply from the independent Vote Abroad exit poll, which showed New People receiving 46.3% of the vote at the Cyprus polling locations, with United Russia taking just 12.8%. The exit poll’s organizers told The Insider that the discrepancy could only be explained by fraud. One of the organizers, Margarita Kuchusheva, said:

“At the three locations, we surveyed most of the people who came to vote and counted 945 people. We were there for almost 80% of the voting period. From 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday in Paphos, from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Saturday in Limassol [voting in those cities took place only on Sept. 18 and 19], and on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at the embassy in Nicosia from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m., except during a heavy thunderstorm Friday morning and for two hours Saturday. During the storm, I was sitting in a car outside the embassy and recorded zero turnout.

All the polling places had one entrance and one exit. We counted turnout. How could the official turnout be about 10 times higher? The only major period we did not cover was Friday in Limassol. But that was a workday — it is impossible that 90% of voters came specifically during those hours, specifically in Limassol, on a working Friday. These are fantastical results. Even if you include embassy employees and their families, the numbers still do not add up. That means at least 10,000 ballots were stuffed. And they were added not only for United Russia, but also for A Just Russia and the LDPR.”

Voting in Cyprus also took place at precinct commission No. 8439 in Nicosia at the Russian Center for Science and Culture. That polling station was not covered by the independent exit poll, but it still remains statistically all but impossible that the official election results published for the country correspond to reality.

The Insider previously analyzed Central Election Commission data from overseas polling stations at Russian embassies worldwide, finding that New People’s share of the vote abroad was over three times higher than its official result inside Russia, while United Russia’s was about 18 percentage points lower. Russian voters abroad also produced results that differed significantly from the nationwide totals in the 2024 presidential election.

Cyprus, particularly Nicosia, stood out as one of the biggest anomalies in Russia’s 2024 presidential election abroad. Official results showed more than 53,000 votes cast in Cyprus (compared to just 5,276 in 2018), including about 42,000 at one Nicosia polling station, while independent monitors estimated actual turnout may have been closer to 13,000 and that roughly 40,000 official votes could have been fictitious or otherwise manipulated. Russian Election Monitor called the presidential vote in 2024 the “largest overseas electoral fraud in Russia's modern history.”