St Petersburg activist Dasha Kozyreva began to be persecuted almost from the very beginning of the war, in the spring of 2022, when she was just 17 years old.

Then the girl wrote on a city installation dedicated to the ‘twinning’ of St. Petersburg and occupied Mariupol the phrase “Murderers, you bombed it. Judas”, and also published an anti-war post on social media. An administrative protocol was drawn up against her for ‘discrediting’ the Russian army.

In January last year Dasha was expelled from St. Petersburg State University because of her anti-war stance, and on 24 February she was detained in a criminal case of ‘repeated discrediting’ – because of a poster with an excerpt of his poem “Testament” (in Russian translation – ‘Bury and rise up, break the chains, sprinkle the will with evil enemy blood’) pasted on the monument to Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko.

Dasha spent almost a year in detention. In December 2024, her case was returned to the prosecutor’s office, and the activist herself was released under a ban on certain actions. But not for long: on 18 April this year Kozyreva was sentenced to 2 years and 8 months in a penal colony.

We sent Dasha a letter to St. Petersburg’s Arsenalka pre-trial detention centre No. 5 with questions about her well-being and the conditions in which she is being held – and in response we received a whole literary account of what she cried about in freedom, laughs about in detention, and in general – about her categorical inability to live in silence. We publish the most important and interesting, in our opinion, fragments.

 

About my character

It has always been difficult for me to talk about myself as a person. I remember being asked at a psychological evaluation: ‘What are your main character traits?’. I squeezed out: ‘er… kind… kind… cheerful… sociable…’. In general, a sportswoman, a member of the Komsomol, and a beauty, to say the least. In fact, my emotional system is a real powder keg. The slightest occasion is enough to make joy and fun replaced by sadness and longing. Or I can explode with anger.

About the feelings from the beginning of the war

A sense of horror, injustice and pain. I desperately wanted to do something. The situation was aggravated by the fact that I, as a typical representative of my generation, spent all my time with my phone, and the continuous reading of news did not add to the health of my psyche. I remember a typical episode: I came across a Ukrainian rendition of the hymn of the People’s Revolutionaries. And I instantly burst into tears. It seems that I was never able to finish listening to it…..

About a favourite spot in the Prison Car

One of my favourite ways to vent my soul is to get on a random bus, trolleybus, tram, or marshrutka and go in a new, as yet unknown direction. That’s how I came to love St Petersburg, to realise it as an integral organism, albeit one made up of such different components. I would just sit down, put on some music and look out of the window.

I always try to sit by the window, even in the detention centre… My second favourite way was to lie in the bathtub for hours. I read, ate, and sometimes slept there… The only downside was that I couldn’t smoke there.

On coming home after a year in the pre-trial detention centre

I would like to warn all those who will have similar aspirations: going out into the wild is not, as I expected, a return to paradise. All your sorrows, all your traumatic experience, will stay with you. Recovery will not take a week or a month, unfortunately.

For the first few days, it was as if I felt nothing at all, except for occasional glimpses. Most of the things that had once made me happy were just dull indifference and an aimless attempt to recall former emotions. Later came a new feeling: yes, this world is full of beauties, but they are not for me. It is no longer my world, I am not in it! Once I went to a public event, something like a lecture. I came out of there and it hit me: I am a stranger at this ‘celebration of life’. I cried all the way from the metro to home, then on my mum’s chest…..

I also remembered the feeling when, on the evening of 7 February, when I first came home, I fell into my bed. I suddenly realised how incredibly soft and warm it was. And next to the table by the window sill – you can sit and smoke in the window. That’s roughly what became the territory of my tiny world. And, of course, my mum. I often asked her: ‘Sit with me while I smoke, please!’. Gradually, of course, my condition returned to normal. Antidepressants are a great thing! But most importantly, I couldn’t have done it without the care of my parents. Without my mum’s warm embrace, without heartfelt conversations with my dad. They have been an incredible support for me. The best parents! I love them very much.

About judgement day

I am already grateful to the judge for allowing me a break between the debate and the last word. I don’t know what would have happened to me if I hadn’t smoked! The cigarette break did its job, my anxiety subsided a little, and I went up to the hall full of determination: it was time to burn people’s hearts with fire. I recently re-listened to the audio transcript of that meeting – I almost shouted, I gave it my all! When I went down to the street again, my mood was still high. I was actually asked for six years, but I had the strength not to think about it yet. And then we went to Teremok with my mother and a wonderful girl who helps Anechka Arkhipova [a defendant in the Viasna movement case, who is now in pre-trial detention together with Kozyreva]. It became clear that this was my last free meal. I had managed not to concentrate on the bad things before, but here I felt a little uncomfortable.

I remember that I tried for a very long time to stuff myself with pancakes. I had a very strange feeling when I looked out the window at the will: it seemed like an ordinary life, but it was already called ‘will’ … The day before, my mother and I had decided that if I suddenly went home from my sentence, we would do a big clean-up. And with the girl who helps Anya Arkhipova, we scored, if they let me go, to drink beer. At that moment I wanted both. Although it’s not typical for me to want to clean… And when we were approaching the court again, I didn’t feel well.

There were people standing outside the building, but I didn’t want to talk to them. However, there was one episode: the journalists noticed that my burgundy lipstick flew off my lips, and unfortunately I had not brought it with me. One of the journalists gave me hers (not burgundy, though) and I started to put on make-up. But she said that I wasn’t doing my lips right – so she started colouring them for me herself. Very nice!

Soon there was a conversation with the lawyer – quite pessimistic, I must say. Then my mother and I were allowed into the hall. I was glad it happened like that – I needed to be near her without contacting anyone else. We hugged and waited for the judge.

Mum was comforting me, and then she cried, and I was already comforting her. How many minutes had passed? Twenty? Thirty? They were very long. And then the meeting started…

 

Слушая приговор, я держала маму за пальчик, как в детстве. Услышав цифру «два», сжала его: «вроде все не так плохо…». Не помню, улыбалась ли я до того, как судья дочитал приговор до конца (во всяком случае, мне надо было держать лицо), но после я точно обрадовалась, по-настоящему, искренне. Я первая девочка, которая получила за стишок чуть меньше тройки! Из минусов — пива, стало быть, выпить не удалось.

About going back to the cell

I was not immediately taken to the pre-trial detention centre – I spent three days in the Petrograd temporary detention centre. When I got into my cell and made myself comfortable, I collapsed. Before going to bed, I leafed through a brochure I’d grabbed from the TDF’s bookshelf – some talentless soviet literature about some Bolshevik. Finally exhausted, she fell asleep. And since the book turned out to be the last impression of the long day, I dreamt something moronic. So, until I moved to the pre-trial detention centre, I mostly slept, because I had the opportunity to do so.

I also managed to get acquainted with a very kind nurse, who was a ‘multi-passer’. [slang for a person who has been arrested or imprisoned for more than one time] called Zvezdochka. She gave me grapefruit juice as a parting gift. And I don’t drink it! But since it was a gift from Zvezdochka, I drank it with all my might…..

When I returned to the pre-trial detention centre, I was very worried that I would be sent to some other cell, not to my political ones. But I was worried in vain! When I was brought up from the ‘assembly’ [I saw a corridor full of bags: my former and future cellmates were being transferred to a bigger cell so that I could join them. In the end, it was a happy evening. We hugged Anechka [Arkhipova] for a very long time. I fell asleep with an incredibly paradoxical feeling: as if I were at home.

I remember that on the second day, an employee of the remand centre came, opened the door, and I was so happy: ‘Good morning!’. Even the Muz-TV channel seemed to me as if it were my own. ‘Now you understand how many people feel,’ Anya said to me.

About the prison ‘twitter’

Of course, the closest thing I have to a cell is Anechka. I write in all my letters that she is a sunshine, because she is… a sunshine! Our sacred place in the cell with Anya is the toilet.

We go there to smoke. We call it the ‘twitter room’ amongst ourselves. In the ‘twitter room’ we discuss gossip (yes, we love gossip!) and all the latest news. Once in one cigarette we came up with a plan for a peace memorandum, completely solving the Russia-Ukraine crisis (with the root causes removed). We make some really dumb jokes there – and laugh!

And I also love Galina in the cell – she is an old woman, incredibly kind, just a dandelion of God. Of course, we all don’t belong in prison, but she doesn’t belong at all, not at all.

On the healing properties of laughter

The best way to cope with the monotony of prison days is to make as many jokes as possible, to remember memes, to turn the most ridiculous nonsense into an occasion for fun. Today we spent half the day laughing at the Russian-English dictionary with transcriptions. Do you know what ‘Yo:QUAKE’ is? Earthquake! We almost died laughing… I also write poetry – not too regularly, but still I get something beautiful:

About whether I’d change anything in my life if I could go back.

The question is what does it mean to take it all back. To bring back the Russia of 2013, to get to that marvellous reality where there is not and was not this damned war? Of course, yes. As one employee of the detention centre says – ‘categorically yes’.

But if we’re talking about going back to 24 February last year and shutting up once and for all for the sake of my studies, career and so on, then absolutely not. My inability to be obediently silent is one of my greatest assets that I wouldn’t trade for anything. To deny it is to deny myself.

Yes, on the 24th of February I could have obeyed the police and moved away from the monument, not to focus on the date, not to show off in the department – yes, I could have just slept the whole day, because I was partying all night the night before. But I still wouldn’t shut up – and maybe one day I’d say something worse than a relatively easy ‘discrediting’. Maybe fate saved me that way… Besides, I managed to sit down for my favourite poet – and that’s certainly a beautiful thing.

On expectations from the forthcoming appeal

My one-year prison experience has taught me that appeals are rarely successful. It seems that the only thing I can count on, at least theoretically, is a change in the additional punishment, which will remain in force for another two and a half years after my ‘call’ [end of sentence – note]. In my sentence it says: ‘…with deprivation of the right to engage in activities related to the public posting of materials and appeals on the Internet’. It turns out that I won’t even be allowed to write under the picture of a cute cat that he is cute!

Here’s hoping that ‘deprivation of the right’ will be replaced by something. For example, a ban on administering websites – it’s a common practice… And we also agreed with Anechka Arkhipova that I will go to the appeal in fish slippers. I emphasise – in her fish-slippers!

 

What’s the first thing he’s going to do when he’s free again?

It is difficult to imagine how prison will affect my personality. Remembering my previous release from prison, I will not guess. At the moment I am fine: I joke jokes and drink antidepressants. But how do I know where my unstable roof will go in six months in the camp?

Only one thing I know for sure: when I get out of prison, the first thing I will do will be to hug my mother tightly and firmly, throw myself on my father’s neck, and drink to peace, whether it has come by then, or whether it is still desired.

 

Source: sotavision.world