According to the human rights project Memorial, at least 5,800 people in Russia and the occupied Ukrainian territories are deprived of their liberty in cases showing signs of political motivation. This is a minimum estimate, published on October 28, 2026.
Behind that number are students, farmers, businesspeople, journalists, and elected officials. People are prosecuted for criticizing Russia’s war against Ukraine, posting on social media, or making small donations. Their cases carry charges such as “terrorism,” “high treason,” and spreading “false information” about the military.
Some political prisoners’ names are known around the world. Many others, particularly those outside Moscow and St. Petersburg, receive little attention. Sometimes, widespread attention comes only after a prisoner’s death—as happened with Pavel Kushnir, a pianist imprisoned in Russia’s Far East.
Some prisoners hesitate to publicize their cases because they fear retaliation. Others have no way to reach major media outlets. Their sentences are no less devastating because their names are unfamiliar.
Sentenced to Decades
“I urge you not to be afraid!” writes Alexey Badmaev, a 23-year-old Buryat political prisoner serving his sentence in the Republic of Sakha, also known as Yakutia.
Badmaev received a 14-year sentence in a case involving online comments and a donation of 500 rubles—roughly $6—to a Ukrainian blogger. His transfer to a penal colony in Yakutia was reported in September 2026.
Alexey is currently being held in a punitive isolation cell, where he is permitted to read for two hours, twice a day. Despite this, his parents say he remains optimistic.
Dmitry Rupenko, 32, from Irkutsk, was sentenced to 15 years in a penal colony in a case involving filming near the Irkutsk Aviation Plant. He has a disability and needs regular medical supervision. While in pretrial detention, he attempted suicide several times.
Another Irkutsk resident, 35-year-old Vadim Nekrashchuk, received a 13-year sentence in a strict-regime penal colony. He was convicted of high treason in connection with filming a military unit, although information about the site was already available online. Nekrashchuk says he was tortured at an FSB office after his arrest.
Alexey Grigoryev, a 28-year-old anarchist from the Orenburg region sentenced to 20 years, says he was beaten while being transported to Verkhneuralsk prison in the Chelyabinsk region. He subsequently developed an inguinal hernia but waited about six months to see a surgeon. During that time, he lost 20 kilograms.
“I am losing weight and my eyesight, I am going bald, and my mental health is deteriorating,” he writes.
Ibragim Orudzhev, a student of international relations at Belgorod University, received a 16-year sentence after photographing a military enlistment office in Moscow.
He was 22 when he was detained in November 2023. He had photographed a sign showing the office’s opening hours. Prosecutors alleged that he was conducting reconnaissance in preparation for an arson attack with a Molotov cocktail. Memorial, which recognizes Orudzhev as a political prisoner, concluded that investigators had presented no convincing evidence of his guilt.
His prosecution interrupted his university studies. With volunteers’ help, he has continued learning behind bars.
“Right now, I’m studying French, English, physics, and mathematics. There isn’t much time for it—mostly just in the evening, after work. […] Learning foreign languages keeps a sense of newness alive; it helps me feel as though I’m somewhere else,” he writes.
In March 2026, 27-year-old Polina Yevtushenko, from Tolyatti, was sentenced to 14 years in a penal colony following a prosecution involving social media posts and private conversations. Prosecutors alleged, among other things, that she had encouraged an acquaintance to join the Freedom of Russia Legion. Memorial describes the conversations as involving a provocateur.
She was convicted under six provisions of Russia’s Criminal Code, including charges related to preparation for high treason, incitement to terrorism, financing terrorism, and spreading “false information” about the military.
Polina has a seven-year-old daughter, whom she was raising on her own before her arrest.
Awaiting Trial and Sentencing
Mikhail Fetisov, a 52-year-old former neurologist from St. Petersburg, remains in custody. He faces charges of spreading “false information” about the military, inciting activities against state security, and insulting a government official.
Fetisov has a Group 3 disability under Russia’s disability classification system. The “false information” charge concerns two anti-war posts on social media.
Boris Todayev, a 66-year-old Kalmyk journalist, is being prosecuted for an article about the Stalin-era deportation of the Kalmyk people in 1943. Authorities accuse him of “rehabilitating Nazism.”
His article recounts the memories of a 90-year-old woman who was deported as a child. It ends with these words:
“…at that time, her father was fighting the Nazis at the front, while other Nazis—in the guise of Soviet soldiers—were exiling his children, his family, to the cold of Siberia. Forever.”
Todayev has been placed under house arrest.
Another Kalmyk activist, 59-year-old Eduard Baltykov, has been held in pretrial detention since December 2025. A researcher of Kalmyk history, he faces up to 20 years in prison on allegations of participation in an organization that Russian authorities classify as part of the banned Free Nations of Post-Russia Forum.
There is not a shred of evidence linking Eduard to the activities of the Forum. Memorial recognizes Baltykov as a political prisoner and considers his prosecution a violation of fundamental rights, including freedom of expression and association. Baltykov denies wrongdoing.
He suffers from a stomach ailment and cannot tolerate cigarette smoke, yet has been held in a cell with smokers.
“I am not guilty of anything; I have committed no crimes. I know I am in the right, and that gives me strength,” he says.
A Mother Who Never Saw Her Son Free
For prisoners serving sentences measured in decades, time also takes away the people waiting for them.
Dmitry Mikheyev, from Bratsk, was sentenced to 18 years in a strict-regime penal colony for setting fire to a military enlistment office. He said his intention was to destroy residents’ personal files and prevent their mobilization for the war.
His mother, Irina, was the only person who visited him and brought him care packages. She worked as a cook.
After the verdict, she wrote to friends:
“Dimka got 18 years… I feel like I’m drunk—I can’t stand, I can’t sit, and I can’t even lie down. I can’t breathe! What am I supposed to do?! […] I will wait for my son! God, I will wait for him! Two years have already passed, in a way—maybe the time spent in the pre-trial detention center will count toward his sentence, perhaps with some kind of multiplier…”
Irina died of heart problems in November 2025. She was 54. Dmitry was 24.
When he learned of his mother’s death, he wept for more than an hour.
These are only a few of the thousands of stories of political imprisonment in Russia. Each long sentence takes years from a prisoner’s life and years from the people waiting outside. Sometimes, it takes away their chance to see one another again.
We cannot allow these prisoners to disappear from public view. We can write to them, share their stories, support their families, and press for their release.
A letter will not overturn a sentence. But it can tell someone behind bars that they are remembered.
