"Before I was just seen as a journalist in exile. Now, no one in Russia wants to be linked to someone labeled a terrorist."
Armen Aramyan, DOXA Journal’s Founding Editor, speaks about his recent arrest in absentia, the spread of global authoritarianism, and the state of independent Russian media in exile.
Hello again! Aron Ouzilevski here — DOXA’s English editor.
It’s been a while, but we’re back — and excited to resume bringing you essential coverage and analysis of Russia and beyond, straight to your inbox. This week, we’re sharing an interview with our founding editor, whose name and work you may already know: Armen Aramyan.
I was lucky enough to meet Armen a few years ago in Berlin, where he — along with the several other members of DOXA’s editorial staff — was already running the publication from exile. Just as he was in our recent conversation, he struck me then as soft-spoken and thoughtful, choosing his words with care to articulate his deeply considered reflections on Russian politics, the war in Ukraine, and the broader mechanics of authoritarianism.
His youthful face hadn’t changed much from the courtroom photographs taken in 2021, when he and three other DOXA editors faced trial on trumped-up charges that critics say were politically motivated.
(Armen Aramyan, Natalia Tyshkevich, and Alla Gutnikova stand trial in 2021. Source: Denis Kaminev, AP)
A few months ago, the Russian government brought new charges against Armen—in absentia—a ten year prison sentence for allegedly “justifying terrorism.” That became the starting point for our conversation, held over Zoom, where we spoke about living under such charges, the future of independent Russian media in exile, DOXA’s origins and recent Gaza coverage, and what America’s own authoritarian drift looks like to someone who’s seen the real thing.
The new charges against Armen aren’t just symbolic. They make it dangerous to share or support our work inside Russia, where much of our audience still lives. Combined with a broader funding crisis, DOXA is fighting for its survival—any donation from our English-language readers would go a long way.
On February 8, 2024, DOXA was added to Russia’s list of “undesirable organizations.”If you are in Russia or plan to travel there, you are prohibited from sharing our materials on social media, citing them, or reposting excerpts.
AO: You were recently arrested in absentia by Russian authorities on charges of “justifying terrorism.” Can you explain what that means and how you responded?
AA: What’s happening now is part of a much broader campaign by the Russian state to eliminate any space for independent politics, journalism, or civil society. It’s affected hundreds, if not thousands, of people.
This includes the banning of independent media, the labeling of organizations as “undesirable” or “foreign agents,” and efforts to block any financial support within Russia. For example, if an organization is designated “undesirable,” then any interaction with it—reading or sharing its materials, or donating—can lead to administrative or even criminal penalties. Someone was recently fined for retweeting one of our articles.
It’s about instilling fear: telling Russian audiences not to engage with us, while also undermining our ability to operate as a media outlet. Our work relies on people discussing and sharing what we publish—if no one in Russia can do that without risking punishment, it severely limits our reach and impact.
As for the criminal charges in my case, I honestly don’t know what specific logic they’re following. I was charged with two things. One was for a column I wrote early in the war, where I described forms of anti-war direct action—like the arson attacks on military recruitment centers. That seems to have been the trigger for the “terrorism justification charge”.
I believe the charge of “justifying terrorism” and my inclusion on the list of terrorists and extremists is ultimately a way to isolate me. For people in Russia, it becomes dangerous to associate with me in any form—even something as simple as posting a photo together.
Before, I was perceived as someone who was just working in independent media abroad—people might not have agreed with me, but I was still part of the public conversation. Now, no one inside Russia wants to be linked to someone officially labeled a terrorist [out of fear for their own safety]. That label effectively cuts me off from any direct connections to Russia in the near future.
It’s also a form of intimidation. People like me are pushed outside the boundaries of the law, into a category of “enemies of the people,” which allows the state to do anything it wants to us—seize property, strip citizenship, block access to resources. It’s a form of political warfare.
AO: DOXA is an independent outlet that has a concrete ethos and political vector. At what point in your life did you become politicized—did you begin to recognize the authoritarian nature of the regime you lived under?
AA: It’s hard to pinpoint a single event that led to my politicization—I was only in 9th grade when the Bolotnaya protests happened [the 2011 demonstrations against Vladimir Putin’s bid for a third presidential term, often seen as a political awakening for a generation of Russians, but also a moment of disillusionment as the protests ultimately failed].
For me, one of the key influences was media—especially the kind of media work Navalny was doing at the time [large-scale anti-corruption investigations that were published on YouTube]. More broadly, there was this feeling that a rich ecosystem of independent media existed—outlets were exposing corruption, speaking honestly about authoritarianism, elections, repression, etc.
By the time I finished high school and started studying at HSE [Higher School of Economics], that media landscape felt like the most trustworthy source of information. I know I’m describing this in a very sociological way, but that’s really how it felt.
It was more of a general sense of enthusiasm, of momentum, a vitality—faith in an opposition that existed through a robust media ecosystem.
AO: Can you talk about DOXA Journal origins, and how it eventually became part of this ecosystem?
AA: It started as a niche student media project at HSE (Higher School of Economics), that focused on problems within the university—things like poor-quality education or cases of harassment by professors. We created our own agenda, reporting on what we found unacceptable. These weren’t seen as political issues at the time, but we made them political.
At the time, HSE [a university founded after the Soviet collapse with an emphasis on Western, liberal-style education] was seen as a kind of island of freedom. Professors with views that were openly critical of the Kremlin could still teach there, unlike in many other schools, students weren’t punished for attending protests, and there was a lot of grassroots activity: student-run media, Telegram channels, and other projects that were often sharply critical and willing to push boundaries.
Soon, that space gradually started to shrink. The administration began restricting freedoms, which in turn triggered more pushback from students. Our approach was to focus on internal university issues—not necessarily to engage with national politics.
We wrote about problems that directly affected students—everything from declining education quality to solidarity with student political prisoners. But we weren’t reporting on, say, corruption outside the university system. It was a local, student-centered agenda.
That started to change in the summer of 2019, when things began to shift—when the boundaries between student activism and broader political engagement started to blur.
AO: What happened in 2019?
AA: In 2019, protests erupted around the Moscow City Duma elections—independent candidates were being blocked, while HSE’s vice-rector was running, which outraged many students and professors.
That moment highlighted the university’s growing ties to the state. In hindsight, our indignation may have been a bit naive—HSE was already effectively a state institution with deep connections—but it still felt like a turning point.
Protests spread across Moscow and other cities, and students from various universities mobilized, joining campaigns for the barred candidates [many of whom were affiliated with Navalny’s opposition movement and disqualified on trumped-up charges].When they weren’t registered, the protests intensified.
As student journalists, we covered this mobilization and tried to maintain a university-focused agenda, even as it increasingly overlapped with national politics.
We organized support campaigns for detained students, raised money for fines, and documented political prosecutions involving students—trying to build solidarity where we could.
That period marked the beginning of a real overlap with broader politics—and over time, that space kept expanding. I experienced all of this closely, since I was one of the founders of DOXA and played an informal leadership role there.
While I consumed mostly liberal independent media—reporting on corruption and authoritarianism—my political ideas were increasingly shaped by leftist theory, which I discovered through books. Still, there didn’t seem to be any active leftist organizations I could join; if they existed, they felt too niche or inaccessible.
So there was a disconnect: I was politically active in a liberal space, but ideologically drawn to the left. I tried to bring those ideas into DOXA’s work, but there wasn’t a broader political movement to plug into.
At the time, values we might now call leftist—things like feminism, LGBT rights, or a general focus on equality and social justice—didn’t necessarily register as ideological.
They felt more generational than political, more like a shared orientation among young people, especially students. Supporting women’s rights, for example, didn’t mean you identified as leftist. These ideas felt new, forward-looking, and rooted in youth culture, not in traditional political divisions.
AO: What does it even mean to be leftist in the Russian context—politically or economically? And more broadly, what does it mean within the anti-Putin opposition?
AA: I’d say being leftist in the Russian context starts with a critical stance toward neoliberal economic policies. It means recognizing the deep inequality in the country, and it involves a critique of the 1990s privatization process, which created a class of overnight oligarchs and entrenched economic injustice that still defines Russia’s system today.
It’s also a rejection of the Russian liberal idea that democracy simply means having basic institutions—like courts, elections, and free speech—and that once those are in place, the system will take care of itself.
A leftist approach calls for a deeper transformation of how democratic institutions function in Russia—limiting the influence of the wealthy and expanding grassroots participation. It also includes support for progressive values like women’s rights, LGBT rights, and the rights of non-citizens.
AO: Why do you think the Russian liberal class has such a strong aversion to anything resembling socialism? Is it simply an inability to separate leftist thought from the Soviet experience?
AA: One factor is class. Much of the liberal political base comes from a narrow slice of Russian society: the urban middle class, professional managerial class, etc. Free markets and low taxes often align with the material interests of this group—or at least they believe they do.
There’s also a kind of ideological enchantment with market economies, especially among the older generation. Even among younger people, there’s this ingrained opposition between a sluggish, conservative, overreaching state and the sleek efficiency of startups and corporations.
That contrast—between a backward state and a dynamic market—is a core part of neoliberal common sense in Russia. It’s the idea that success comes through individual effort, and the less the state interferes, the better your chances.
The idea that individual economic success is both possible and desirable is widespread—but I don’t think it reflects the beliefs of most Russians, and that’s part of the problem. Things were starting to shift, though. In some ways, Alexei Navalny represented a break from the old liberal paradigm.
Earlier generations of liberal politicians failed because their ideas didn’t resonate with most of the population. And there’s also a simple reference point in historical experience: we tried to build socialism, and it failed. Older Russian liberals feel a kind of irritation—really, a rejection—of any ideology at all. In the Soviet Union, ideology existed, but even progressive ideals were reduced to scholasticism—some rigid, theoretical system that never translated into real life.
AO: Many Western leftists—especially in academia—seem to overlook or misread the war in Ukraine, framing it mainly as a reaction to U.S. or NATO actions. In that, the voices of Russian and Ukrainian leftists often get ignored. What’s your take? Do you think there’s a fundamental misunderstanding of Russia in these circles?
AA: In the left-wing public sphere, there’s debate, and Russian democratic leftist voices exist in that debate, though they obviously don’t paint Putin as some anti-imperialist hero. However, in the English-speaking leftist sphere (which not only includes the Western left, but also voices from the Global South), there’s a clear divide with Russian and Ukrainian leftists: some argue the war is entirely the West’s fault and dismiss opposing views as stooges of Western imperialism. This stems from a presumption that everything the U.S. does is bad, partly reflecting a privilege of living in liberal democracies and a lack of understanding of authoritarianism.
We recently interviewed a Syrian communist who described how Assad had murdered Syrian communists. Yet many leftists in the West supported Assad just because he seemed to oppose U.S. imperialism. This position is also a reaction to U.S. foreign policy, the latest example of which is its unconditional support for Israel’s war on Gaza. The U.S. framing of its support for Ukraine as solidarity with victims lost credibility due to its backing of Israel’s violence against Palestinians after October 7. This eroded the belief that the U.S. was genuinely defending Ukraine’s sovereignty.
AO: Since we’re on the topic of Israel-Palestine, I often see debates within the Russian opposition and liberal circles. Many still view Israel as a kind of democratic outpost in a “barbaric” Middle East. Why do you think that is? Is it rooted in stereotypes, or in personal ties—like the fact that many Russian liberals are Jewish and hold Israeli passports? Why is Israel such a politically divisive issue for Russian liberals, and how has that played out in your experience?
AA: The presence of Jews in the Russian political class doesn’t automatically imply support for Israel—many pro-Palestinian activists in the West are Jewish. However, there’s a historical context: Soviet Jewish emigration to Israel in the 1970s, family ties, and cultural affinity. Ideologically, many Russian liberals have idealized Western democracies and see Israel as part of that model.
Israel’s successful outreach to Jews worldwide, including post-Soviet Jews with Israeli passports, has fostered sympathy for Israel over Palestinians, who remain abstract figures. However, younger generations are challenging this consensus. Activists like Andrey Khrzhanovsky (the son of filmmaker Ilya Khrzhanovsky, who fled Russia’s authoritarianism to seek refuge in Israel), who protested in the West Bank and faced violence from Israeli authorities—are leading this shift. There's also growing discomfort among neutral observers questioning the overwhelming support for Israel in liberal Russian media.
AO: And where does DOXA fit into this?
AA: Before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, DOXA Journal was an independent outlet with a distinct voice. When the war started, there was broad anti-war solidarity [among independent Russian media outlets], but the Israel-Gaza war created a deep rupture. DOXA and much of our audience refused to overlook the mass killing of Palestinians, apartheid, and the denial of Palestinian rights. We spoke out, and the Russian liberal establishment, broadly pro-Israel, was displeased.
Around October 7–8, DOXA faced intense backlash, particularly from individual Russian journalists, though not so much from institutional media. While things have calmed, some still hold a negative view of us.
Ironically, our coverage of Israel has largely been written by progressive Israeli journalists like Aleksandra Lisogor and Andrey Khrzhanovsky. We've aimed to provide an honest picture, amplifying anti-war and anti-apartheid voices within Israeli society. However, access to voices from Palestine has been difficult, a serious shortcoming we recognize.
AO: In the U.S., the current administration is labeling pro-Palestinian students and activists as "pro-Hamas" or "pro-terrorist" for expressing their views. Terrorism is a term that has been redefined by various governments, and many citizens associate it with these shifts. Circling back to your own charge of “justifying terrorism” in Russia, how is the concept understood in the Russian context?
AA: The meaning of “terrorism” has shifted over time. It once described specific methods of political struggle—used by various groups, including anarchists in the Russian Empire or Zionist militias in pre-state Israel—without necessarily being morally condemned. But especially after 9/11, the term became heavily politicized and stripped of context.
Today, terrorism is treated not as a tactic but as a fixed identity—“terrorists” are simply seen as evil people. The word comes with a strong cultural image, often racialized: bearded Muslim men with guns. It has become a label used to delegitimize political movements, regardless of their actual methods.
For example, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK) used violent tactics early on but later renounced them—yet it remains on terrorism lists in Turkey, the U.S., and parts of Europe. Importantly, the term “terrorist” is rarely applied to states, even when they use similar violence. There have been attempts to label Russia a terrorist state, but it doesn’t quite stick—because the concept is still implicitly reserved for non-state actors.
In Russia, this framing began with the Chechen wars. While some liberals in the 1990s tried to understand Chechen resistance as a form of political struggle, the state quickly defined all militants as absolute enemies—outside the category of citizens or even people.
Once that framing was established, it became easy to apply the label to others: journalists, activists, anyone who challenged the state could be accused of terrorism or “justifying” it. That’s exactly what’s happened to me. And we see similar dynamics now in the U.S. and Europe—especially since October 7—where supporters of Palestine are being branded as terrorist sympathizers. It’s a cynical tactic, used to silence dissent and shut down political debate.
AO: How do you, as a person of both leftist convictions, and someone who has experienced authoritarianism firsthand, perceive what’s happening in the US now?
AA: It’s not surprising to me. I see two things happening at once. On the surface, there are clear parallels between what Trump and figures like Musk are doing now and what I witnessed in Russia: crackdowns on students, university self-censorship, and the chilling effect of targeted repression.
In Russia, disproportionate state violence created a pervasive atmosphere of fear. Now, I see similar dynamics in the U.S., where people self-censor to avoid provoking Trump or his allies, who can retaliate with overwhelming force. While the U.S. and Russia have different histories, both are part of a global trend: authoritarian leaders using liberal democratic institutions to entrench their power, often serving the class of ultra-wealthy created by decades of neoliberal policies.
What’s striking in the U.S. today is the open transfer of state power into the hands of billionaires. Leftist critiques have long argued that capitalist states serve the rich, but at least post-WWII democracies masked elite control. Now, billionaires aren’t just lobbying—they’re holding office and reshaping government in their image. This unapologetic use of raw power is a new ideological shift. It’s not that the wealthy didn’t rule society, but the spectacle of it—so openly flaunted—is something new. It’s the erosion of even the pretense of democratic balance, and that’s what’s most alarming.
AO: I’ve seen a political apathy also burgeon in the US, that reminds me of trends in Russia. What allows authoritarianism to thrive? What are the conditions that let it prevail—from the perspective of someone who has lived it so intimately?
AA: I’ve started to think about these things more pragmatically: authoritarianism triumphs when there’s no strong alternative force capable of pushing back. That force could take many forms—civil society, labor unions, organized opposition—but it has to exist.
My sense is that, globally, including in the US, political movements have forgotten how to resist. In Russia, even before the war, political activity was limited to things like elections, human rights work, and media. But elections only functioned within the boundaries set by the state. You could try to run, get denied registration, hold a protest, and then disperse—that was the cycle.
Looking at protest movements over the past 15 years—from the Arab Spring onward—there’s been a reliance on technology, social media, and spontaneous mobilization. People take to the streets with demands, hoping for quick results. But what’s missing is long-term political strategy and organization.
In the 20th century, resistance was rooted in mass parties and unions. Today, that kind of structure is largely gone. And without organized political resistance, these spontaneous uprisings face an extremely well-organized opponent: the state. The state, by definition, is a powerful and long-term structure.
There’s a crisis of strategic and tactical thinking—about what resistance should look like, how to build power, and how to achieve political change. That’s why authoritarian regimes and far-right movements are winning globally: not because they’re unstoppable, but because there’s no serious, organized opposition to confront them.