Steve Rosenberg
Editor for Russia
Near the Kremlin, several dozen people are standing in line outside the office of the president’s administration.
They came to hand over petitions calling on President Vladimir Putin to end the shutdown of the Internet.
Russian authorities are increasingly tightening their control over the country’s cyberspace.
Access to the world’s messaging apps is limited, and mobile internet is widely disrupted, or sometimes even completely shut down.
Delivering petitions to the president is legal.
But in an authoritarian state, it’s raising your head above the parapet.
And it is made clear to people.
On the other side of the street, members of the security service are filming the people who brought the petitions – and us.
“Aren’t you afraid?” I ask Julia, who is standing in line.
“Very,” she replies.
“I’m shaking all over.”
Putin has confirmed the internet disruption and described it as related to “operational work to prevent terrorist attacks”, although he says he has instructed officials to allow the “undisturbed operation” of basic internet functions.
Julia, the owner of a catering company, explains how attempts to censor the Internet have affected her business.
“There were cases recently when our website could not be accessed at all, we could not make money,” she says.
“We lose money every time there is a blocking of the Internet, a blocking of Telegram and Vocap.
“My business is run exclusively over the internet. Without access to the internet, it cannot exist in this form.”
Russian officials insist that restricting communications is in the interest of public safety.
They claim that shutting down mobile internet disorients Ukrainian attack drones, although such attacks have continued even in areas where the internet has been completely cut off.
Authorities accuse messaging apps of ignoring Russian data laws.
Access to Vocap and Telegram is significantly restricted.
Meanwhile, government regulators have taken a crack at VPNs – virtual private networks used to circumvent restrictions.
As part of its “sovereign internet” initiative, the government is promoting a state-owned Russian messaging app called MAKS.
The public is distrustful.
“Many people think that this application was created by the government specifically to check our messages,” says former lawmaker Boris Nadezhdin, who once tried to oppose Putin in the presidential election.
Furthermore, in many parts of Russia, the only sites and services open on a mobile phone are now those approved by the government.
One gets the impression that the digital “Iron Curtain” is being lifted.
“The idea is to separate Russia from the outside world,” says columnist Andrei Kolesnikov, from the opposition Novaya Gazeta media, because it is believed that “that world is poisonous to the Russian brain.”
“Russia has always been blocked, primarily by the West, which has been the source of ‘bad, revolutionary, liberal ideas’. It’s always been this way.”
Then again, Russians have embraced the digital age and the Internet to such an extent that cyber restrictions and disruptions come as a shock.
“It has less to do with free speech and more to do with habits,” explains activist Julia Grekova.
“People have gotten used to paying for things and ordering taxis through mobile phones.
“They sit on the bus and text their friends.”
“There are very few people who don’t use mobile internet for work, public services and to stay in touch with family. That’s why the reaction is so violent – everyone is affected.”
I am talking to Julia Grekova in the city of Vladimir, 190 kilometers from Moscow.
She recently tried to hold a rally against internet restrictions.
“We sent a request to the local authorities and proposed several options for the venue.
“They replied that this was not possible, as on the date we proposed they would be cleaning the streets in all 11 of our proposed locations.”
“The city hall proposed an alternative location and time, but later we were told that was not possible either, due to the risk of a Ukrainian drone attack.”
Julia was then visited by the police and warned not to protest.
“They came to my workplace, three people in a police vehicle. They filmed me signing the prosecutor’s official warning.”
“I felt like some kind of terrorist.”
Similar requests for public protests were rejected in dozens of other Russian towns and cities.
In the Moscow region, local authorities have appealed to concerns about the spread of the corona virus.
Officials in Penza claimed the rally could not take place because of a roller-skating competition at the requested location.
I check my phone in the center of Vladimir.
The taxi ordering app works and I can access state media.
But Google searches don’t work.
And independent news sites don’t load.
“It’s much more difficult to communicate,” says Maria, who went out for a walk with her baby in a stroller.
“We want to keep up with the latest news and trends. Instead, we fall behind others.”
The longer we talk, however, the less Maria wants the latest information.
“In the past, when there was no Internet, the world seemed like a brighter place because we knew less,” she says.
“And as for the Russian war in Ukraine, I try to avoid any news related to that,” Maria says.
“I don’t want to fill my head with it. We are tired of news of people dying.”
“Restricting the Internet creates everyday problems,” says Dennis.
“I couldn’t pay for gas today. And my sat nav is wrong.”
“People are annoyed,” Alexander tells me.
“Especially those with small businesses. They lose customers when they can’t get online.”
“We feel like we’re going backwards,” says Yulia Grekova.
Is Russia’s internet stranglehold a thing of the past?
“No, it’s not,” Putin’s spokesman Dmitry Peskov assures me in Moscow.
“In the current situation, security concerns dictate the need for certain measures,” Peskov added.
“They are being undertaken and most of our citizens understand the need for them.”
“Obviously, limiting the internet to suits a lot of people. But that’s the time we live in.”
“Once the need for such measures ceases, services will be fully restored and back to normal.”
But restrictions and repression are starting to feel like the new normal.
“I don’t think the regime is ready to come back,” concludes journalist Andrey Kolesnikov.
“They can only move forward into greater repression.”
“What is bad for the authorities is the accumulation of dissatisfaction and it could somehow manifest itself in the future.”
“We don’t know in what form. But it’s clear that irritation and discontent is growing.”
And they come to the surface.
Recently, the famous Russian blogger Victoria Bonya posted an “address to the Russian president” on Instagram.
She criticized Internet throttling and other controversies in Russia.
The video went viral with tens of millions of views.
In her monologue, Victoria Bonya did not blame Putin directly.
But she said to him: “There is a huge, thick wall between you and us ordinary people.”
On Thursday, the Kremlin leader claimed he could not “ignore” the problems Russians are experiencing as a result of internet disruption.
He instructed law enforcement agencies to show “resourcefulness and professionalism” and to “please the vital interests of citizens.”
This was not a radical U-turn for Putin.
There is no indication that the restrictions will end.
Recent polls in Russia indicate that his popularity is at its lowest point since the launch of the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022.
It’s not just internet restrictions that are fueling public unease.
Russians are worried about the economy and there is growing fatigue with the war in Ukraine.
“People are beginning to understand that there is a direct connection between their everyday problems, such as health care, food prices, Internet problems, and Vladimir Putin’s policies,” says Boris Nadezhdin.
“And that’s something new in Russia.”
When she submitted the petition to the president’s administration, Julia returned to work and baking bread at her catering company.
She has taken a stand, but she is far from certain that it will leave any mark.
He is already thinking about how to adapt to the limitations of the Internet.
Russians, she tells me, have great experience in adapting to big changes.
“My great-grandfather was wealthier than the average citizen. In the Soviet countryside, that was considered a sin.”
“His property was confiscated and he was transferred to Siberia. But his family adapted.”
“My parents survived the fall of the Soviet Union: they adapted to the market economy.
“Now it’s my turn to adjust. After that, it’s my daughter’s turn.”
How does Julia think the situation in Russia will develop further?
“The future is not even mentioned in everyday conversations with friends and relatives,” she explains.
“We’re just talking about what are we going to do in three days, in a week, in a month?”
“Not more than a month.”
Like the bread I see rising in the oven, a deep sense of uncertainty is growing throughout Russia.
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