“Most of you have my number,” yells Mariyana Kazarova in the packed hall. “Get in touch with me! I’ll do my best to help you—within and outside of my mandate!” Kazarova is the United Nations Special Rapporteur for Human Rights in Russia, a position that was created after Moscow’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February of 2022. On this sunny April day, she is in the basement of a convention centre in north Brussels, speaking to Russian opponents of the war.

Most of them know full well what consequences opposition to Vladimir Putin’s war can bring. Many have felt the repression of his security apparatus on their own bodies, having been pursued or imprisoned. At least with Kazarova they have a weighty spokesperson on their side. “The future will only come if we imagine it—and this is the place where we do that,” says the Bulgarian civil rights activist and journalist.

Kazarova’s speech kicks off the two-day congress of the Platforma network, under whose roof hundreds of anti-war initiatives and activists have come together. Some of them are still active in Russia, but most operate in exile. On stage hangs the theme of the gathering: “Standing Together for Ukraine and for Freedom.” Around 300 people have gathered under it, including Russian activists, Ukrainian human rights campaigners, and delegates from the European Union and beyond.

That this gathering carries risks is clear from the clandestine nature of the congress, with its detailed security protocol. Participants learn the event location only a few hours before the congress begins, it cannot appear in the newspaper and recording is forbidden. Those who would like to attend need two personal recommendations from Platforma members.

Left-wing antipole

Outside the entrance, Katya Moroko tells about the origins of a particular project. The 29-year-old comes from Kazakhstan, moved to Moscow to study journalism, and later wrote for the student website Doxa. When four of her editorial colleagues were charged shortly after the war began, she fled to Georgia.

Today, Moroko lives in Berlin, where Platforma was founded in 2022. “Forums for the Russian opposition already existed back then, but most of them under the aegis of liberal politicians. We wanted to build an antipole—a left-wing, decolonial alternative that, as an independent actor in civil society, would unite movements and grassroots groups,” she explains.

The congress in Brussels is already the third of its kind. And it is a good place to take the pulse of the Russian anti-war movement. According to Moroko, many people have grown tired after three years of the invasion: too few opportunities to make a difference, too few resources, lots of burnouts and programmatic differences. During the two days here, many people speak of exhaustion, while others lament the absence of a collective vision. What will become of the anti-war movement once the war is over, someone asks. Most seem to believe that, then, there will be more work to do than ever before.

In any case, no end to the war is presently in sight; the Russian regime is not showing much interest in that. Most recently, two attacks shocked the international community. Three weeks ago, 20 civilians, including children on a playground, died in the industrial city of Kryvyi Rih. The Sunday before last, two rockets hit the centre of Sumy, killing over 30 people and injuring more than 100.

“People just disappear”

Punishment of Russian war crimes is also a central topic of the congress. “Real peace is only possible when perpetrators are held accountable, and victims are heard,” says UN delegate Kazarova in her speech. There is much talk about transitional justice, a process for working through past wrongdoing, which would lay the ground for long-term reconciliation. The Platforma network has also established a working group specifically to that end.

For the moment, however, there can be no talk of reconciliation between Russians and Ukrainians. Everybody here recognizes that this is a project for subsequent generations. But from a feeling of collective responsibility there also grows a sense of duty to take things in hand now. One of those present puts it this way: “We’ve lost our country, our dignity. We’re the ones who must hold the perpetrators responsible. Let’s start gathering evidence of the crimes.”

It is a success that Ukrainian human rights activists have, nonetheless, come to Brussels. Platforma will later say as much in a public statement: “The collective work with the Ukrainians is one of the most important outcomes of the congress.” One concrete point of cooperation is the fight for the “tens of thousands of people currently being illegally detained by Russia”—Ukrainian prisoners of war and kidnapped citizens, including up to 20,000 children, but also more than 2,000 political prisoners within Russia itself.

“People just disappear, not even the International Red Cross knows where they are. Some eventually turn up in a prison, but most never again,” reports Michail Savva from the Kyiv Centre for Civil Liberties, who joins virtually from the Ukrainian capital. Savva calls for sanctions against culpable individuals and organizations including, for example, the Russian Ministry of Defence or the military police. “We’d be happy to pass on our list to the European authorities,” he says. Another demand is voiced at the congress: that not just territory and natural resources, but also the release of Kremlin-held hostages should be at the centre of peace negotiations.

A window of opportunity

The initiatives presented in Brussels are as varied as the themes with which they are concerned. One of them is desertion as an act of resistance. The overwhelming majority of conscientious objectors remain in Russia—often because they cannot access the documents they need to escape. Since 2022, only a handful of people have been issued a humanitarian visa for the EU. Accordingly, congress delegates are calling on EU member states to recognize desertion as a political action and to guarantee legal protections.

Meanwhile, just how closely hope and despair can sit next to one another in the anti-war movement is illustrated by an exchange during one of the panels. “A question for the audience,” says a delegate from the human rights organization Memorial, which is banned in Russia. “Is it possible in Russia to assemble three hundred people for a discussion about human rights and democracy?”—“In jail,” someone yells from the audience. Laughter breaks out across the room.

One theme that hovers over most discussions is the future of Russia. One person invited to share his vision is Michail Lobanov. Listening to him, one almost gets the impression that things are not really so bad in the country. In the 1990s, members of the right-wing mainstream thought that the introduction of capitalism would also bring democracy. “The shock therapy imposed back then killed off democracy, because it took from the people the economic foundation they needed to participate,” says the left-wing politician. Young people in Russia today, on the other hand, are definitely more political, and more left-wing, too. “Even the Kremlin understands this.”

The 41-year-old also had to leave Russia. At first, he had hoped to be left in peace, but when he was declared a “foreign agent,” and so lost his university job, he realized: “Next comes prison. When, during a search of my apartment, they left me my military ID and passport, I knew: they want to chase me out the country.” With the help of French trade unionists, he managed to leave for Paris. “Once the window of opportunity opens in Russia, there will need to be a strong political subject,” Lobanov is convinced, “and a project that’s understandable to all of those who aren’t politically active right now.”

Where things stand with this subject comes out in a panel on the education policies of the regime. “They’re trying to educate the youth to be heroes,” reports one political scientist. The schoolbooks are full of talk about Russia’s unity, the value of the traditional family. A sign of this shift is an educational theme introduced in 2020, “Conversations About What Is Important,” a sort of patriotic school lesson. The bleak idea of an indoctrinated youth is, however, matched by the hopes of those who are fighting against it. For example, the museum educator, Vanya (who in fact has a different name) reports on how art lessons can help bring young people to think critically. “I use money earned working for the state museum to fund activism. Without knowing it, the Russian state sponsors extremism,” says Vanya with a laugh. She is one of the few who have travelled directly from Russia.

When the anti-war activists leave Brussels after two days, they have done more than just address pressing questions, establish new contacts, and refresh old ones. It has also become clear just how valuable is their experience of authoritarian machinations. Or, as one participant in the closing session put it to the audience: “You, who’ve experienced totalitarianism, can tell the Europeans about it—and you can serve as their model in the fight against it.”

Anna Jikhareva is a staff reporter with the Swiss left-wing news collective Wochenzeitung WOZ. Her work covers migration and labour struggles, right extremism and countries in the post-Soviet region.

This article was first published in German, Die Wochenzeitung WOZ #16, April 17, 2025. Translated by Jeff Kochan.