OUR DEAR FRIENDS IN MOSCOW

On journalism in an increasingly authoritarian Russia.

In 1991, with the collapse of the Soviet Union, write reporters Soldatov and Borogan, Russia edged closer to the rest of the world. That ended when Vladimir Putin “understood that globalization—through ideas and technologies—was the biggest threat to him.” And that realization put Soldatov and Borogan in the crosshairs, where, now in exile, they have remained, having enraged the regime with coverage of the Moscow theater massacre, the murder of Alexei Navalny, the invasion of Ukraine, and much else. Other investigations roused the ire of the security state that underlies the Putin regime, as when they uncovered shady real estate deals on the part of the Federal Security Service brass: “In the early 2000s, a real estate boom was transforming Moscow. The successors to the KGB had kept their property, and soon the generals realized they were sitting on a gold mine.” Soldatov and Borogan’s vivid narrative charts the changing trajectories of once like-minded colleagues at Izvestia, the erstwhile Soviet broadsheet. One was a stylish fixture in Putin’s press pool, another a war correspondent with deep connections to pro-Russian Serbia, still another “a deeply traumatized scion of an elite Soviet family whose ties with military intelligence mystified everybody.” Tracking them over the next quarter-century, the authors note disturbing changes that make them wonder whether they ever knew their former friends, some of whom they interview about that very question. Their conclusion is that accommodationism is inevitable in a people resigned to dictatorship: “The only difference one could make was to choose whether to stay outside the regime—doomed to be a loser, a victim of inevitable repression—or try to stay inside and play a role. And all of them, ever ambitious, chose to stay in and play.” It’s disturbing, and achingly real.

A searingly defiant account of the battle for truth under totalitarianism.