Extract from ABC News
A toothbrush and a mug — these are the only personal items Vladimir Kara-Murza can keep behind bars at one of Russia's most brutal penal colonies.
The 42-year-old Russian opposition activist is serving a 25-year sentence at the Siberian IK-6 prison for treason after he spoke out against the war in Ukraine.
He has been placed in solitary confinement nearly 250 kilometres east of Moscow where outside temperatures frequently plummet to 20 degrees below zero.
With nothing inside his concrete cell other than a fold-out cot, stool and sink, Kara-Murza could only laugh when prison officials inexplicably added a small cabinet.
His wife Yevgenia recalls another time when he was told to collect his bedding from across the corridor — except that prisoners must keep their hands behind their backs whenever they are out of their cells.
"How was he supposed to pick it up? With his teeth?" she recounts.
She says Kara-Murza, who is under 24-hour surveillance, was disciplined for violating the rules after a guard saw him using his hands to collect the sheets.
These are just some of the tactics that are reportedly used to control and repress the growing number of Russian dissidents held under President Vladimir Putin's political crackdown.
Long stints in isolated "punishment cells" are a grim reality for many, with their only connection to the outside world a visit from a lawyer or writing letters that can sometimes take weeks to arrive.
Inmates reportedly endure sleep deprivation, malnourishment, medical neglect, and a dizzying set of arbitrary rules designed to mentally and physical break them.
After the still-unexplained death of Alexei Navalny at an Arctic penal colony earlier this month, human rights advocates have warned that political prisoners like Kara-Murza are facing increased risks inside Russia's prison system.
"No-one in the Russian penitentiary system is safe," says Grigory Vaypan, a lawyer from the leading Russian human rights group Memorial.
"For political prisoners, the situation is often worse, because the state aims to additionally punish them, or additionally isolate them from the world, or do everything to break their spirit."
A 'system of slavery'
The late Russian opposition leader Navalny became one of Putin's most famous political prisoners, but Memorial says there are at least 680 others who are languishing in one of Russia's 700-odd penal colonies.
These are people who, according to the group, were locked up for purely political reasons due to their personal convictions or views, though they have not committed a violent crime nor called for any violence.
Also known as "prisoners of conscience", they are often sent to penal colonies with tighter controls, says Zoya Svetova, a journalist and prisoner rights advocate.
Most inmates from the colonies — which are widely seen as descendants of the Soviet-era labour camps known as gulags — tend to live in barracks tightly packed with bunk beds.
Konstantin Kotov, an activist who spent more than a year in the IK-2 penal colony in the Vladimir region of north-west Russia, recalls cramped quarters of up to 60 men per room.
Prisoner advocate Sasha Graf says they are usually required to work a job, like sewing uniforms for soldiers and construction workers, in return for meager pay.
Nadya Tokonnikova, a member of the Pussy Riot feminist protest group who was jailed for nearly 22 months in 2012-2013, recalls sewing for up to 18 hours each day.
"It's a system of slavery, and it is truly horrible," she says.
While prisoners are not supposed to be paid less than the minimum wage of 19,242 rubles ($324) per month, Graf says in reality they receive as little as 300 rubles ($5).
That is only enough to buy cigarettes and sanitary products from the prison kiosk.
Meanwhile, the meals are reportedly basic and unsatisfying.
Kotov says he would have porridge for breakfast, soup for lunch, and then mashed potatoes and a meat or fish cutlet for dinner.
Inmates would be fed two eggs each week, and fruit and vegetables were a luxury that was almost always sold out at prison kiosks, he added.
"The ration is not enough, and often it's inedible. So almost no-one lives on rations alone," Navalny once said.
There is also a strict regimen of menial tasks and duties, like cleaning and standing at attention.
Andrei Pivovarov, who is serving four years for running a banned political organisation, must clean his solitary cell for several hours a day and listen to a recording of prison regulations, says his wife, Tatyana Usmanova.
But he can't do both at the same time, or finish quickly and rest, she added, because the prison guards will punish rule-breakers.
'Slow motion' death
In a 2021 report, the US State Department found conditions in Russian prisons and detention centres "were often harsh and life threatening".
"Overcrowding, abuse by guards and inmates, limited access to healthcare, food shortages and inadequate sanitation were common in prisons," it said.
Under such grim conditions, it is not surprising that inmates do not fare well inside the penal colonies.
Yevgenia says Kara-Murza's health has worsened since he was put in solitary confinement.
Like the late Navalny, he has suffered near-fatal poisonings, and has developed polyneuropathy, a condition that deadens the feelings in his limbs.
While he received some treatment in pre-trial detention in Moscow, there has been none at the Siberian penal colony.
"He needs physical therapy, exercise," which is hardly possible in his cell, Yevgenia says.
She fears he will suffer the same fate as Navalny and will not survive his time in prison.
Alexei Gorinov, who is serving seven years for speaking against the war in Ukraine, suffers from a chronic respiratory condition and had part of a lung removed before he was imprisoned.
The 62-year-old's health deteriorated during the six weeks he spent in solitary confinement.
In December, his allies quoted his lawyers as saying he was not strong enough to sit up in a chair or even speak.
"I believe Alexei is being killed in prison," Darya Volya, a close friend of Gorinov's, told the Observer.
"Deliberately killed because the severity of his condition and his age are well known. The conditions in which he is being held and the refusal to give him prompt proper treatment is a very painful murder of a human being in slow motion."
While public pressure helped stop prison abuses in recent years, Memorial's Vaypan believes a line has been crossed with Navalny's death.
He says it's a "worrying signal" that things could get worse.
ABC/wires
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