Aisha Astamirova — activist and wife of Russian political prisoner Mikhail Krieger — speaks about her protest experience and marriage while her husband is in the penal colony

A cassation appeal on the case of Mikhail Krieger, who was sentenced to 7 years in a penal colony for his posts on Facebook was held in Moscow on July 4th. The decision of the court was to keep the previous decision unchanged. During his detention, Mikhail married Aisha Astamirova, a Moscow region Memorial member herself. We talked to Aisha about her activism and protest experience, Mikhail’s arrest and imprisonment, and how to care for oneself and not give up.

— Can you tell us a little bit about yourself: where were you born, how and where did you end up moving to?

— I am Chechen, from a mining town in Central Asia. I first came to Moscow in the 1980s. I’m a geologist, so I travelled around, and settled here in 1984, when I finally got into the full-time programme at university. I graduated, got married, and had a son. When I got my diploma, the Soviet Union collapsed, and I got very sick. I had to stay in Moscow.

Two Chechen wars were the background to this. My relatives, like me, left Central Asia and moved to the Caucasus. I could not contact them. It was unclear where and how to look for them. Almost until 2008, I lived without any knowledge of them. When I was searching, I met a woman with an almost identical last name through Anna Karetnikova — my last name is Astamirova, and hers — Estemirova. She joined us at one of the protests, and we exchanged greetings. And then, when she was killed, suddenly it turned out that she, Natalia Estemirova, was my second cousin. Through her, I could have found my relatives a few years earlier. Their family were if not revolutionaries, then activists, and when the head of the family was arrested in the 1920s, his wife gave the children her last name — Estemirova. Then, the children would not be affected by repressions.

I know that my great-grandfather was arrested too. My brothers tried to look for information, but found very little. There is no information on why he was imprisoned or where he disappeared.

— How did you get into activism?

— I went to rallies, distributed leaflets, and called people. I was always against the war — as they say, against the bad things and for the good ones. I’m for the situation when the weak aren’t hurt, people are not imprisoned for their words and prison sentences are not made up.

And so, I got into it. Then, when the second [Chechen] war began, I considered getting involved for a year, just watching. It seemed scary to protest. Protests were held at Pushkinskaya [ed. metro station in the centre of Moscow], in the park next to the McDonald's. After the Nord-Ost terrorist attack, Mikhail Krieger and Anna Karetnikova started protesting. I came later. I was afraid for a while, and then just stopped.

— What made you stop being afraid?

— You can’t be afraid all the time.

You see, I was always vulnerable. At that time my son was registered in Moscow with his father, and I was nobody to him, so I didn’t have registration. Then, my passport was also stolen. Without a passport and registration, I was nobody and nowhere: a Chechen woman without documents. One day I was detained, quite accidentally, and they were very happy to have detained someone from Chechnya.

Throughout my childhood and youth, I was embarrassed of my nationality. When that war began, I was with my geologist friends. And a good friend, who even wanted to date me, and maybe didn’t know I was Chechen, told me that all Chechens are crooked liars and should be killed.

— You had no connection to Chechnya?

Almost everyone in our village was resettled. But it never occurred to me that we also were, I didn’t even know! In class, the Maths teacher once talked about it, but I did not take it personally. This was not discussed in my family.

My mother is of mountain Chechens, but she grew up in Central Asia. Her family was resettled in 1943. My father was 15 years old when that happened to him. My mother was around the same age. After a year or two after being resettled, they were already working at a factory. This mercury factory was moved from Ukraine with equipment, and the personnel there were mostly Ukrainian.

My parents wanted to return to the Caucasus, and they did so without permission in the late 1950s. There, in the Chechen-Ingush ASSR, I was born in 1961. But, there was not enough work, and they returned to the village of Khaidarkan in the Osh region (Kyrgyzstan). So I was always an outsider.

When the first war started, I felt it was unfair, and not just because it was in Chechnya. I was always against Yeltsin and I didn’t expect anything good from him. The war was a confirmation of my attitude towards him. The referendum, the shooting of Parliament, and then Chechnya.

— How did you meet Mikhail Krieger?

At a protest. I’ve been going since 2003 and he — six months earlier. Then I drew a lot of posters for pickets and rallies. We talked for a long time, we became close friends after six or seven years: me, Anna Karetnikova and Misha [ed. A nickname for Mikhail]. Misha is so funny, and sings songs all the time! And gradually, gradually, one thing led to another... Every evening we gathered at Anna Karetnikova’s house. We spent evenings together the whole winter.

— What do you remember about Mikhail's arrest?

— When the war started, I didn’t think about the risks. At the very start, I spoke very bluntly on social media. At first, there was no fear. And then there was.

When he was detained for the first time, we were in our apartment. Then, just before May 9, activists were arrested en masse. They knocked on the door. I told him to go and open it. He said they would just knock and leave. We did not understand that they came to arrest him. I opened the door, and they immediately snatched him. I say: «Why are you grabbing him like that, let a man get dressed!» He was detained and the apartment immediately felt empty.

After that, he was detained several more times in the summer. Misha had signs on his car — things like “Navalny is my president”. My daughter and I said that he should put them away, because he would get detained, and then we would have to get you out. His little grandson was also at our dacha [ed. country house]. Well, it’s a little complicated. Then he took the signs off the car, and the detentions stopped.

And then... we had to just go to the dacha — turn off the water, cover everything there for the winter. They called and said that Misha was detained. That was in November.

He was detained at work while unloading his car. Someone in a nearby cafe saw men in black masks detaining a man. My daughter quickly went to our apartment and took the dog. She did that just in time. The moment she got out and got into her car, police immediately drove up with a search warrant for the apartment. We have a police station right next to the entrance to our building. And these people were already standing there, waiting.

Every sign pointed to the fact that he will be detained for a much longer time. They take one after another, all for stupid reasons. There were quite a few things on Mikhail’s Facebook or other social media that could land him convictions currently. But now, Artem [Krieger] was detained, said to be liaising with FBK [ed. Anti-Corruption Foundation, established by Alexey Navalny and currently considered extremist], but where is Artem, and where is FBK? Such a strange reason for an arrest.

— What were you thinking the first few days after he was arrested?

— I immediately understood that he would be detained for a long time. Immediately there was this sense of emptiness and loneliness, just like in May. It was immediately clear that he would not be released any time soon.

What was I thinking? First, find out where he is and how he is. Get him his medication and other things that he would need, generally find anything in our apartment, which was trashed [ed. By the police]. This entire month was so hectic. As if I were in a dream. At the time, we were not yet officially married. And for some reason, he was only taken to court after 6 PM, when visitors would no longer be allowed. So we stood on the street.

— Could you see Mikhail?

— No, I only saw him in May, when the trial began. And once via video call. One time, I could not get to the trial — I worked a night job. We would usually finish work at 6 AM, but that time we got delayed until 9 AM. I thought the hearing would get delayed until the afternoon, as usual. But this time he was brought there on time. After 15 minutes it was over. I arrived when the car had already taken him away.

We communicated with letters. Letters go there normally. He has a lot of correspondence, sometimes he delays with the answer.

We talked through letters. Letters are delivered well, and on time. He has a lot of correspondence, so sometimes he takes a long time to answer.

— You recently had a wedding. How did it go?

It was difficult. At “Matrosskaya Tishina” prison, we submitted an application and they asked us to come back in a month. You come back in a month, and the application form is suddenly wrong, another month passes, and there’s again something wrong with the form. It took us almost a year to do this. Finally, we collected everything necessary, brought the documents to the registry office, and set a date. And the colony issued a permit for the wedding in a day.

Everything went fine. I first went to the headquarters with a lady from the registry office. There we got Mikhail’s case file, which the officers opened on the right page and showed where to stamp and record his new civil status. After that, they got Mikhail’s passport and also stamped it. Then me and this lady returned to the colony, to the room where parcels from home are received. Half an hour later, Mikhail came there with his accompanying officer.

Through this window, we informed him that he was already married and just had to sign the marriage registration. This paper was handed through the window, and Mikhail signed it. They allowed us to hold hands. That’s it. They asked me not to photograph this window and the people on the other side.

We were supposed to have a three-day date. But when I went there and got frisked, I forgot I had an old Nokia phone in my bag. At the end of the final pat-down, this Nokia was found, and I was told «goodbye». And our three-day date did not happen because of this old phone. We only saw each other through the window when he signed the marriage licence.

— Will there be another opportunity for you to see each other?

— We estimated that the opportunity for a three-day date should be in the middle or end of August. If, of course, they allow it. There was an open day recently — anyone can come and spend a day in the colony. But, somehow, the officers did not allow Mikhail's relatives to visit.

So we don’t make solid plans. But four long dates a year are usually allowed, and we will try to use them. You can also come and talk on the phone through a glass screen twice a month. But when I am in the countryside with our dogs, it is much more difficult to organise: leave the dogs and travel to Moscow for at least three hours.

— Have you thought about leaving Russia?

— You see, I have five dogs, and they’re old. One medium-sized black terrier, one of those big dogs, like a German shepherd, but not really. And two dogs with little crooked legs. And a toy terrier. There is also a pair of cats that we took in from the street. There is a ferret that lives on our garden plot, but I’ve only seen it once.

As long as they are here, I can’t go anywhere. I would like to leave, maybe go north — something pulls me there.

Everyone is gone. Some are in prison, some have left the country. And here, we’re almost underground. In my son’s family, everyone is pro-war. We know each other’s opinions, and that’s why we don’t really talk about it, so we don’t fight each other.

The same goes for classmates. I am quite close with my coursemates. I studied at the Russian State Geological Prospecting University: it was quite democratic, freedom of thought and freedom in general were encouraged. The professors said, “In the places you will work, no one will be able to decide anything for you  and no one will help you, so you must be able to think outside the box and find the right solutions in any setting.” Among us, there are one or two “Z-idiots” [ed. Extreme supporters of the war in Ukraine]. The rest are silent, but most hold normal views.

— We want to ask you this final question. Why do you think it’s important now not to give up? Where can you find hope? How not to give up?

— This horror can’t be endless. Maybe this demented time will last another five years, but it cannot stretch longer. Nobody really knows, though, how many minds will get polluted and morals lost during that time.

There are many uneducated people who are not interested in anything. They think, “As long as I don’t get hurt, let everything else burn.” It’s like a swamp. It sucks you in. My son doesn’t seem stupid, he’ll be 40 soon, but he says absolutely deranged things.

You have to try to keep yourself sane and influence at least your loved ones. Support your friends and associates, and try to explain to others in any way, that what is happening currently is highly abnormal. Our time is done, yes. But the young have to live in the world we leave them.