Tag Archives: Russians

Russians Are Using Prosthetic Arms to Dodge COVID Vaccines

Kremlin-controlled media is deep in a massive vaccine disinfo campaign, and has been ever since COVID jabs were first introduced. The goal, from the beginning, was simple: to undermine foreign-made inoculations, and promote Russia’s COVID jabs as the very best.

But now, it seems that the fearmongering is backfiring and impeding the Kremlin’s push to vaccinate its own people. The sale of counterfeit vaccination certificates is currently the most widespread type of online fraud in Russia, and some are so desperate to dodge the jab that they’re allegedly ordering prosthetic arms to fool medical personnel.

“So far, the most f’d up story about anti-vaxxers was brought to me by a makeup effects artist who made us costumes for our last shoot. She has a workshop, where they make props and prosthetics,” Russian film producer Rosya Skrypnik tweeted last month. “Every week someone tries to order a silicone pad that could be applied to the arm, so that the vaccine would be injected into a ‘fake shoulder.’”

The producer wrote that initially, she thought the makeup artist was joking. But then, her colleague showed her “DMs to her workshop, where people are offering unlimited amounts of money for a prosthetic arm they could wear to a mandatory vaccination. When the props masters patiently explain that the doctor would recognize a prop, and that this works only in the movies, the anti-vaxxers just offer more money.”

TikTok personality Nika Viper helped popularize the nutty idea with her video, demonstrating a mock vaccination with a prosthetic arm. It received nearly 20,000 likes. Some of the comments read: “I’d pay any amount of money for this,” “Can I borrow the arm?” and “This vaccine is dangerous.”

The story about anti-vaxxers seeking prosthetic arms for sale was also showcased on Russian state TV last month. Popular state TV program 60 Minutes broadcast a cartoon demonstrating the use of the fake arm during an inoculation. Host Evgeny Popov explained that Russian anti-vaxxers “invented another method they see as a viable option, designed to trick the doctors during their vaccination,” adding, “This is not a joke.” Co-host Olga Skabeeva surmised, “Prosthetic arms, fake vaccination certificates, all sorts of things anti-vaxxers do to avoid a vaccination. The kinds of things we used to laugh at have become a reality.”

Other methods reportedly used by desperate Russian anti-vaxxers include obtaining an excuse from a doctor by faking a pregnancy or feigning various allergies, paying corrupt doctors and nurses to administer a fake shot into a sponge instead of an arm, using a ridiculous gadget to remove freshly-injected vaccine, and buying fake vaccination certificates on the black market. “This is mass psychosis,” concluded Artem Kiryanov, member of the Civic Chamber of the Russian Federation, discussing the increasingly desperate measures taken by anti-vaxxers in his 60 Minutes appearance.

A glimpse into the Russian state media’s operations reveals at least part of the reason Russia has such a low vaccination rate—a meager 16 percent, as compared to more than 49 percent in the United States.

Last year, Dmitry Kiselyov, the host of a popular state TV program Vesti Nedeli, dedicated a segment to a discussion on the AstraZeneca vaccine. He bemoaned the jab’s “serious side effects,” spoke of gory medical mishaps and trashed the Oxford invention as a “monkey vaccine,” in reference to the fact that—unlike Russia’s Sputnik V—AstraZeneca is chimpanzee adenovirus-vectored, meaning it was made using a modified version of a virus that infects chimps.

“America was counting on AstraZeneca’s vaccine,” the notoriously anti-U.S. propagandist said as he stood in front of a screen with two posters. One featured Uncle Sam with the caption: “I want you to take monkey vaccine” and another depicted King Kong forcefully inoculating Ann Darrow, above a text that read: “Don’t worry, monkey vaccine is fine.” The segment concluded with Kiselyov asserting that less Russophobic countries have an advantage: They can use Sputnik V instead of the “monkey vaccine.”

State TV presentations followed a familiar pattern: Citing a slew of unreliable sources, hosts announced “horrendous scandals,” alleging multiple deaths and devastating side effects experienced by AstraZeneca vaccine recipients. Multiple news segments bombarded the audiences with stories of the jab’s complications, from blood clots to multiple deaths. Sinister music often accompanied the segments. They even showcased a photograph allegedly depicting a corpse lying in the street, and attributed the death to an AstraZeneca shot.

The Pfizer vaccine was also targeted by Russian state media with fervor. One video posted by a Louisiana-based Brant Griner earlier this year—featuring his mother, Angelia Gipson Desselle, violently twitching after receiving the Pfizer jab—was played on loop across Russian airwaves. The news lines were dramatic: “Horrific consequences of the American Pfizer vaccine,” “Woman who suffered convulsions after taking Pfizer Covid jab being screened for permanent neurological damage, son tells RT.”

Appearing on Russian state TV, Griner urged people not to take the jab, and claimed he had been contacted by “thousands and thousands” of people, “hundreds” of whom had reported adverse reactions. “Forewarned is forearmed,” Evgeny Popov ominously said in one of the broadcasts, referring to the clip. After getting contacted by U.S. news outlets attempting to verify his story, Griner removed the clip from his social media pages—but by that point, it had already racked up millions of views.

In later videos, he said that his mother “didn’t know” the condition “would go away in a day or two,” and asked her son to remove the videos as she was “overwhelmed” by the amount of publicity they received. Still, as recently as this month, Desselle was included in a Fox News segment about adverse reactions to vaccines, featuring Wisconsin Senator Ron Johnson.

Other videos promoted by the Russian state media were less dramatic, but their cumulative effect was potentially devastating. Cherry-picking isolated reports of rare side effects from around the world, the state media created a never-ceasing stream of bad vaccine news, including: “13 dead in Norway,” “Miami doctors dies 2 weeks after Pfizer’s Covid-19 jab,” “Young doctor left paralyzed in wake of taking Pfizer Covid-19 vaccine in Mexico,” and “Teenager Dies in Sleep After Receiving Pfizer COVID-19.”

On July 20, Alexei Naumov from the Russian International Affairs Council said: “Our fight for our vaccine is a struggle for Russia’s global influence… It’s a modern-day nuclear arms race and we’re among the leaders, which is great.” To further discredit the Pfizer jab, Russian TV state programs would even showcase clips of Fox News’ Tucker Carlson questioning the vaccine.

Darwin’s hypothesis will come true in the reverse order: A man will turn into a monkey.

Russian TV commentator.

Therein lies the entire plot. Moscow’s ham-fisted approach was explicit and brazen. By trashing the reputation of Western vaccines and showcasing individual adverse reactions from all over the world, the Russian state media sought to discredit competitors and promote its own vaccines. Instead, vaccine hesitancy in Russia is now through the roof, and stories of people using prosthetic limbs for COVID shots and faking vaccine certificates are rampant. Russia now has the highest tracked rate of vaccine opposition in the world, according to a recent study by Morning Consult, with the U.S. coming in second. A July survey by Russia’s Levada-Center showed that the most popular reason for refusing vaccination is the fear of side effects.

When Russia announced that its health ministry is testing the effectiveness of combining Sputnik V with AstraZeneca, the public response demonstrated just how successful the propaganda campaigns have been. Appearing on various Russian TV shows, multiple guests appeared shocked and bashed the idea, with some saying: “Need a new batch of volunteers with no survival instinct?” and “Darwin’s hypothesis will come true in the reverse order: A man will turn into a monkey.”

Addressing Russia’s struggle to get the pandemic under control, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov told TASS on Tuesday that “the not-very-rapid vaccination pace is among the reasons why we have so far been unable to radically contain the spread of the disease.”

Turns out that fearmongering about other vaccines leads to a distrust in all of them. As a well-known Russian proverb goes: Don’t dig a hole for someone else, or you may fall into it yourself.



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For Russians in a Pandemic, Lake Baikal Is the Place to See and Be Seen

Usually it’s foreigners who cavort at the world’s deepest lake in winter. But with many borders closed, Russians are arriving in droves to make TikTok videos and snap Instagram pictures.


ON LAKE BAIKAL, Russia — She drove 2,000 miles for this moment: Hanging out the sunroof of her white Lexus S.U.V. that glittered under the blinding sun, face to smartphone selfie camera, bass thumping, tires screeching, cutting doughnuts over the blue-black, white-veined ice.

“It’s for Instagram and TikTok,” said Gulnara Mikhailova, who drove two days and two nights to get to Lake Baikal with four friends from the remote Siberian city of Yakutsk.

It was about zero degrees Fahrenheit as Ms. Mikhailova, who works in real estate, put on a swimsuit, climbed up onto the roof of her car and, reclining, posed for pictures.

This is winter on the world’s deepest lake, 2021 Pandemic Edition.

The tour guides are calling it Russian Season. Usually, it is foreigners — many from nearby China — who flock to Siberia’s Lake Baikal this time of year to skate, bike, hike, run, drive, hover and ski over a stark expanse of ice and snow, while Russians escape the cold to Turkey or Thailand.

But Russia’s borders are still closed because of the pandemic, and to the surprise of locals, crowds of Russian tourists have traded tropical beaches for Baikal’s icicle-draped shores.

“This season is like no other — no one expected there to be such a crush, such a tourist boom,” said Yulia Mushinskaya, the director of the history museum on the popular Baikal island of Olkhon.

People who work with tourists, she said, “are just in shock.”

If you catch a moment of stillness on the crescent-shaped, 400-mile-long, mile-deep lake, the assault on the senses is otherworldly. You stand on three feet of ice so solid it is crossed safely by heavy trucks, but you feel fragile, fleeting and small.

The silence around you is interrupted every few seconds by the cracking underneath — groans, bangs and weird, techno-music twangs. Look down, and the imperfections of the glass-clear ice emerge as pale, shimmering curtains.

Yet stillness is hard to come by.

While Western governments have been discouraging travel during the pandemic, in Russia, as is so often the case, things are different. The Kremlin has turned coronavirus-related border closures into an opportunity to get Russians — who have spent the last 30 years exploring the world beyond the former Iron Curtain — hooked on vacationing at home.

A state-funded program begun last August offers $270 refunds on domestic leisure trips, including flights and hotel stays. It is one example of how Russia, which had one of the world’s highest coronavirus death tolls last year, has often prioritized the economy over public health during the pandemic.

“Our people are used to traveling abroad to a significant degree,” President Vladimir V. Putin said in December. “Developing domestic tourism is no less important.”

Recent months have seen a monumental crush of tourists at Black Sea beaches and Caucasus ski resorts. This winter, during what some call the “gender holiday” travel period around Defender of the Fatherland Day on Feb. 23 (when Russia celebrates men) and March 8 (International Women’s Day), Lake Baikal has been the place to be.

It is a distillation of tourism in the Instagram age.

Some visitors bring their own smartphone tripods, jumping up and down repeatedly for the perfect snapshot of themselves in midair before a wall of ice. Others pilot drones or set off bright-colored smoke bombs.

At sunset recently, a line of tourists lay on the frozen lake on their bellies inside a natural grotto in the shoreline cliffs, taking pictures of the rose-glinting icicles hanging from the ceiling.

“Get out!” some yelled when another group arrived. “Take a hike, all of you! You’re blocking the sun!”

“The social networks have led to all this,” said a guide at the grotto, Elvira Dorzhiyeva. “There’s these top locations, and it’s like — ‘All I care about is that I want what I saw online.’”

The most in-demand photos involve the clear ice, so some guides carry brushes to sweep away the snow.

Nikita Bencharov, who learned English competing in international table tennis tournaments in the Soviet era, runs a sprawling hotel complex on Olkhon and estimates that in a normal year, more than 70 percent of the wintertime visitors are foreigners.

This year, just about all his guests are Russian, which has presented a bit of a problem. Russians who vacation abroad are used to cheap, comfortable lodgings, which are hard to find in the far reaches of their own country. At Olkhon hotels this season, unassuming double rooms have gone for as much as $200 a night; at some of the cafes, the restrooms are unheated outdoor pit toilets.

“The foreigners are already a bit prepared and thank the Lord that there’s a normal bed here, at least, and that they’re not sleeping on a bearskin,” Mr. Bencharov said. “They understand better than the Russians where they’re traveling to and why.”

Many operators geared toward foreign tourists have scrambled to adjust. On Olkhon, the once-Chinese restaurant now serves borscht.

At the island’s northern tip, where orange cliffs tower over a blue-white labyrinth of ice formations, fleets of tour vans deposit hundreds of people to slide and clamber around, and then to slurp fish soup heated by fires set directly on the ice.

A couple from Moscow, two engineers in their 30s, said they were visiting Siberia for the first time. One said he was thrilled by the landscape but shocked by the region’s poverty and felt sorry for the people and how they have to live.

About 50 miles away, at a fishing camp across the lake, three men bunked in a metal shack on the ice, the air inside tinged with the scent of cured fish, damp bedding and pine-nut moonshine in a plastic bottle on the floor. Two of the men, firefighters, said they made around $300 a month and took several weeks off in the fall to supplement their income by harvesting pine nuts in the forest.

“We make the minimum and complain and complain — and that’s it,” one of the firefighters, Andrei, 39, said. “And, what, we listen to Putin on TV …”

He let his voice trail off, with a nervous laugh. He declined to give his last name, worried about retaliation at his government job.

Baikal’s alien landscape offers an escape from hardship and crisis — temporary and, perhaps, deceptive. The coronavirus, for one, seems not to exist, with not a mask in sight on the visitors packing tour vans and restaurants. Their dismissive attitude mirrored an independent poll this month that found that fewer than half of Russians worried about catching the virus and that only 30 percent were interested in getting the Russian coronavirus vaccine.

“It’s a psychosis,” a park ranger, Elena Zelenkina, said of the global fear of the virus as she served tea and homemade doughnut holes at a gift shop next to hot springs on the lake’s quieter eastern shore.

A group of music aficionados in the nearby city of Irkutsk even went ahead with their annual indoor winter music festival. One of the spectators, Artyom Nazarov, was from Belarus — one of the few countries whose nationals can now easily enter Russia.

Belarus, like Russia, has been wracked by anti-government protests. But like Mr. Putin, President Aleksandr G. Lukashenko of Belarus has held on, deploying an overwhelming show of force to put down unrest. Mr. Nazarov said he had supported the protesters but because it seemed their victory was neither imminent nor assured, he was moving on.

He had spent an exhilarating week walking and skating around Olkhon. He was looking forward to more outdoor tourism, on Russia’s Kamchatka peninsula or in Iceland if the borders open.

“We all have our dreams and our goals that we want to achieve,” Mr. Nazarov said. “Life goes on.”

Oleg Matsnev contributed research from Moscow.

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For Russians in a Pandemic, Lake Baikal Is the Place to See and Be Seen

Usually it’s foreigners who cavort at the world’s deepest lake in winter. But with many borders closed, Russians are arriving in droves to make TikTok videos and snap Instagram pictures.


ON LAKE BAIKAL, Russia — She drove 2,000 miles for this moment: Hanging out the sunroof of her white Lexus S.U.V. that glittered under the blinding sun, face to smartphone selfie camera, bass thumping, tires screeching, cutting doughnuts over the blue-black, white-veined ice.

“It’s for Instagram and TikTok,” said Gulnara Mikhailova, who drove two days and two nights to get to Lake Baikal with four friends from the remote Siberian city of Yakutsk.

It was about zero degrees Fahrenheit as Ms. Mikhailova, who works in real estate, put on a swimsuit, climbed up onto the roof of her car and, reclining, posed for pictures.

This is winter on the world’s deepest lake, 2021 Pandemic Edition.

The tour guides are calling it Russian Season. Usually, it is foreigners — many from nearby China — who flock to Siberia’s Lake Baikal this time of year to skate, bike, hike, run, drive, hover and ski over a stark expanse of ice and snow, while Russians escape the cold to Turkey or Thailand.

But Russia’s borders are still closed because of the pandemic, and to the surprise of locals, crowds of Russian tourists have traded tropical beaches for Baikal’s icicle-draped shores.

“This season is like no other — no one expected there to be such a crush, such a tourist boom,” said Yulia Mushinskaya, the director of the history museum on the popular Baikal island of Olkhon.

People who work with tourists, she said, “are just in shock.”

If you catch a moment of stillness on the crescent-shaped, 400-mile-long, mile-deep lake, the assault on the senses is otherworldly. You stand on three feet of ice so solid it is crossed safely by heavy trucks, but you feel fragile, fleeting and small.

The silence around you is interrupted every few seconds by the cracking underneath — groans, bangs and weird, techno-music twangs. Look down, and the imperfections of the glass-clear ice emerge as pale, shimmering curtains.

Yet stillness is hard to come by.

While Western governments have been discouraging travel during the pandemic, in Russia, as is so often the case, things are different. The Kremlin has turned coronavirus-related border closures into an opportunity to get Russians — who have spent the last 30 years exploring the world beyond the former Iron Curtain — hooked on vacationing at home.

A state-funded program begun last August offers $270 refunds on domestic leisure trips, including flights and hotel stays. It is one example of how Russia, which had one of the world’s highest coronavirus death tolls last year, has often prioritized the economy over public health during the pandemic.

“Our people are used to traveling abroad to a significant degree,” President Vladimir V. Putin said in December. “Developing domestic tourism is no less important.”

Recent months have seen a monumental crush of tourists at Black Sea beaches and Caucasus ski resorts. This winter, during what some call the “gender holiday” travel period around Defender of the Fatherland Day on Feb. 23 (when Russia celebrates men) and March 8 (International Women’s Day), Lake Baikal has been the place to be.

It is a distillation of tourism in the Instagram age.

Some visitors bring their own smartphone tripods, jumping up and down repeatedly for the perfect snapshot of themselves in midair before a wall of ice. Others pilot drones or set off bright-colored smoke bombs.

At sunset recently, a line of tourists lay on the frozen lake on their bellies inside a natural grotto in the shoreline cliffs, taking pictures of the rose-glinting icicles hanging from the ceiling.

“Get out!” some yelled when another group arrived. “Take a hike, all of you! You’re blocking the sun!”

“The social networks have led to all this,” said a guide at the grotto, Elvira Dorzhiyeva. “There’s these top locations, and it’s like — ‘All I care about is that I want what I saw online.’”

The most in-demand photos involve the clear ice, so some guides carry brushes to sweep away the snow.

Nikita Bencharov, who learned English competing in international table tennis tournaments in the Soviet era, runs a sprawling hotel complex on Olkhon and estimates that in a normal year, more than 70 percent of the wintertime visitors are foreigners.

This year, just about all his guests are Russian, which has presented a bit of a problem. Russians who vacation abroad are used to cheap, comfortable lodgings, which are hard to find in the far reaches of their own country. At Olkhon hotels this season, unassuming double rooms have gone for as much as $200 a night; at some of the cafes, the restrooms are unheated outdoor pit toilets.

“The foreigners are already a bit prepared and thank the Lord that there’s a normal bed here, at least, and that they’re not sleeping on a bearskin,” Mr. Bencharov said. “They understand better than the Russians where they’re traveling to and why.”

Many operators geared toward foreign tourists have scrambled to adjust. On Olkhon, the once-Chinese restaurant now serves borscht.

At the island’s northern tip, where orange cliffs tower over a blue-white labyrinth of ice formations, fleets of tour vans deposit hundreds of people to slide and clamber around, and then to slurp fish soup heated by fires set directly on the ice.

A couple from Moscow, two engineers in their 30s, said they were visiting Siberia for the first time. One said he was thrilled by the landscape but shocked by the region’s poverty and felt sorry for the people and how they have to live.

About 50 miles away, at a fishing camp across the lake, three men bunked in a metal shack on the ice, the air inside tinged with the scent of cured fish, damp bedding and pine-nut moonshine in a plastic bottle on the floor. Two of the men, firefighters, said they made around $300 a month and took several weeks off in the fall to supplement their income by harvesting pine nuts in the forest.

“We make the minimum and complain and complain — and that’s it,” one of the firefighters, Andrei, 39, said. “And, what, we listen to Putin on TV …”

He let his voice trail off, with a nervous laugh. He declined to give his last name, worried about retaliation at his government job.

Baikal’s alien landscape offers an escape from hardship and crisis — temporary and, perhaps, deceptive. The coronavirus, for one, seems not to exist, with not a mask in sight on the visitors packing tour vans and restaurants. Their dismissive attitude mirrored an independent poll this month that found that fewer than half of Russians worried about catching the virus and that only 30 percent were interested in getting the Russian coronavirus vaccine.

“It’s a psychosis,” a park ranger, Elena Zelenkina, said of the global fear of the virus as she served tea and homemade doughnut holes at a gift shop next to hot springs on the lake’s quieter eastern shore.

A group of music aficionados in the nearby city of Irkutsk even went ahead with their annual indoor winter music festival. One of the spectators, Artyom Nazarov, was from Belarus — one of the few countries whose nationals can now easily enter Russia.

Belarus, like Russia, has been wracked by anti-government protests. But like Mr. Putin, President Aleksandr G. Lukashenko of Belarus has held on, deploying an overwhelming show of force to put down unrest. Mr. Nazarov said he had supported the protesters but because it seemed their victory was neither imminent nor assured, he was moving on.

He had spent an exhilarating week walking and skating around Olkhon. He was looking forward to more outdoor tourism, on Russia’s Kamchatka peninsula or in Iceland if the borders open.

“We all have our dreams and our goals that we want to achieve,” Mr. Nazarov said. “Life goes on.”

Oleg Matsnev contributed research from Moscow.

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As Negative Views of China Grow in U.S., Russians Are Happy with Their Neighbor

As negative views of China grow among those in the United States, Russians have overwhelmingly positive views of their neighbor, recent surveys reported.

A survey conducted jointly by the Chicago Council think tank and the Moscow-based Levada Center polling firm published Friday revealed that 74% of Russians have favorable views of China, a finding that reflects the growing geopolitical warmth between the two nations. Just 45% felt the same about the European Union, and only 39% had a favorable view of the U.S.

This data emerges amid a downward turn in the favorability of China in the U.S. A Gallup poll published earlier this month found that just one-in-five of respondents in the U.S. had a positive opinion of China. That was a drop from one-in-three just last year and an all-time low for reporting since 1979, the year Washington established relations with the People’s Republic.

In the decades since, the country has established itself as a leading economic power, matched only by the U.S. Its military and diplomatic forces have also strengthened, and now challenge Washington’s post-Cold War status as the world’s only superpower, which it gained with the fall of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s.

Today, while Washington views Beijing as its main competitor, Moscow sees it as a strategic partner with which it is enjoying the strongest bilateral ties in the history of the two nations.

Chinese President Xi Jinping (R) presents the first Friendship Medal of the People’s Republic of China to Russian President Vladimir Putin in the Great Hall of the People in Beijing on June 8, 2018. The award was said to be presented to foreigners who have who have made “outstanding contributions to China’s socialist modernization drive, in promoting exchange and cooperation between China and the world, and in safeguarding world peace.”
GREG BAKER/AFP/Getty Images

The Chicago Council-Levada Center poll revealed that Russians saw the benefits of closer relations with China, which have played out in unprecedented diplomatic, economic and military cooperation.

A majority of 55% of Russians say that their country’s relationship with China has the ability to improve Russia’s position in the world, and 57% felt that these ties would grow closer throughout the next decade. Looking back, 56% said China gets more respect today than 10 years ago, 42% said the same for Russia and only 9% said so for the U.S.

And despite widespread perceptions of their unequal relationship, 56% of Russians said Moscow’s growing ties with Beijing would not increase Russia’s dependence on China.

“Russian President Putin’s reorientation away from the West and toward Beijing in the aftermath of the 2014 Crimea annexation seems to have been accepted, if not embraced, by the Russian public,” the Chicago Council-Levada Center survey report said. “Ironically, although the Obama administration planned for a pivot to Asia in 2009, it may be the Russians, not the Americans, who have successfully pivoted eastward.”

As for worsening U.S.-China ties, the Gallup report saw the COVID-19 pandemic as a contributing factor, and warned that Asian-Americans were facing collateral damage as a result.

“In a year upended by a pandemic first discovered in China, and perhaps the most widespread cyber-attack in the U.S. attributed to Russia by the U.S. intelligence community, both China and Russia have reached new low points in Americans’ views,” the report said.

“The findings also coincide with reports of increased hate crimes against Asian Americans across the United States,” the report said, “something Biden hopes to blunt by condemning anti-Asian speech in a recent executive order and directing the federal government to avoid such language in its operations.”

President Joe Biden has repeatedly condemned the rise in hate crimes directed toward Asian Americans in the country. At the same time, he has largely continued his predecessor’s tough line on China, and his administration has said it had “deep concerns” over the World Health Organization’s recent investigation into the origins of COVID-19 in China.

In contrast, Moscow has praised Beijing’s efforts to battle the coronavirus, particularly the efforts the two countries pursued in tandem.

“Our partnership is truly excellent,” Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov said Thursday, according to the state-run Tass Russian News Agency. “Right from February, March and April last year, Russian scientists and medics were in contact with the Chinese partners. The Chinese helped us with individual protective gear, when there was a catastrophic shortage of it, the Chinese helped us with equipment and medicines.”

On Friday, Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesperson Zhao Lijian reciprocated the compliments.

“China and Russia have stood shoulder to shoulder and worked closely to combat the coronavirus,” Zhao told reporters Friday. “We’ve been helping each other with anti-epidemic materials, sharing practical experience unreservedly, and jointly carried out research and development of vaccines and drugs, and worked hand in hand to resist all kinds of ‘political viruses.'”

He praised the cooperation between the two countries.

“This reflects the high-level operation of China-Russia relations in the new era and the profound friendship between the people of the two countries,” Zhao said.

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Navalny urges Russians from jail to overcome their fear

MOSCOW (AP) — In a note from jail, opposition leader Alexei Navalny urged Russians Thursday to overcome their fear and “free” the country from a “bunch of thieves,” while the Kremlin cast the arrests of thousands of protesters as a due response to the unsanctioned rallies.

Navalny, who was sentenced to two years and eight months in prison earlier this week, said in a statement posted on his Instagram account that “iron doors slammed behind my back with a deafening sound, but I feel like a free man. Because I feel confident I’m right. Thanks to your support. Thanks to my family’s support.”

Navalny, 44, an anti-corruption campaigner who is Russian President Vladimir Putin’s most determined political foe, was arrested Jan. 17 upon returning from his five-month convalescence in Germany from a nerve agent poisoning, which he has blamed on the Kremlin. Russian authorities deny any involvement and claim they have no proof that he was poisoned despite tests by several European labs.

A Moscow court on Tuesday sent Navalny to prison, finding that he violated the terms of his probation while recuperating in Germany. The sentence stems from a 2014 embezzlement conviction that Navalny has rejected as fabricated and the European Court of Human Rights has ruled unlawful.

He said his imprisonment was “Putin’s personal revenge” for surviving and exposing the assassination plot.

“But even more than that, it’s a message from Putin and his friends to the entire country: ‘Did you see what we can do? We spit on laws and steamroll anyone who dares to challenge us. We are the law.’”

Protests against Navalny’s arrest and jailing have spread across Russia’s 11 time zones over the past two weekends, drawing tens of thousands in the largest show of discontent with Putin’s rule in years.

In a no-holds-barred response to the protest, police arrested over 10,000 protest participants across Russia and beat scores, according to arrest-monitoring group OVD-Info. Many detainees spent hours packed into police buses after detention facilities in Moscow and St. Petersburg quickly ran out of space. After a long wait, they were crammed into overcrowded jail cells with no precautions to prevent them from being infected with the coronavirus.

Some of the detainees said their cells lacked beds and they had to sleep on the floor, while others complained there weren’t enough beds and inmates took turns to get a nap.

Speaking in a live YouTube broadcast, Leonid Volkov, Navalny’s chief strategist who is currently residing abroad, said the protests should pause until the spring after reaching a peak. He said that protesters won a “huge moral victory” and argued that trying to maintain rallies each weekend would only lead to thousands more arrests and wear participants out.

Instead, he urged supporters to focus on challenging Kremlin candidates in September’s parliamentary elections and securing new Western sanctions against Russia to press for Navalny’s release. He said Navalny’s team would try to make sure that “every world leader would discuss nothing but Navalny’s release with Putin.”

Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov had a phone call Thursday with U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken, who raised the issue of Navalny, according to the Russian Foreign Ministry. It said that Lavrov emphasized the need to respect Russian law.

Putin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said that Russia won’t listen to Western criticism of Navalny’s sentencing and the police action against protesters. “We aren’t going to take into account such statements regarding the enforcement of our laws on those who violate them and Russian court verdicts,” Peskov said.

He shrugged off questions about detainees waiting for many hours on police buses and being squeezed into cramped cells by saying they had themselves to blame. “The situation wasn’t provoked by law enforcement. It was provoked by participants in unsanctioned actions,” Peskov said during a call with reporters.

One detainee, 30-year-old architect Almir Shamasov, who spent 10 days in a detention facility in Sakharovo outside Moscow, said he spent 20 hours in a police van that either was flooded with fumes or shivering cold when the engine was cut off.

“When you sit inside a police van with engine and heat on, the smell of gas or diesel fuel is unbearable. When it’s off, the steam comes out of your mouth,” he said after being freed late Wednesday.

Another detainee, Eva Sokolova said after walking out of detention in Sakharovo that she slept two nights on the floor of a police precinct before the court jailed her for three days.

About 150 relatives of the detainees waited outside in the snow for many hours Wednesday to hand over food and necessities. One of them, Tatiana Yastrebova, said she waited six hours for officials to accept some items she brought for her son.

Following Navalny’s arrest, authorities also moved swiftly to silence and isolate his allies. Last week, a Moscow court put his brother, Oleg, top associate Lyubov Sobol, and several others under house arrest — without access to the internet — for two months as part of a criminal probe into alleged violations of coronavirus restrictions during protests. Sobol was formally charged Thursday with inciting the violation of sanitary regulations by organizing protests.

Navalny has another court hearing scheduled for Friday in Moscow on separate charges of slandering a World War II veteran. He has rejected the case as the Kremlin enacting political revenge.

Navalny argued that the crackdown on protests was a show of weakness, saying that the government’s power is illusory and urging Russians not to fear it.

“They can only hold on to power and use it to enrich themselves relying on our fear,” he said. “If we overcome that fear, we will be able to free our Motherland from a bunch of occupants-thieves. And we shall do it. We must do it for ourselves and the future generations.”

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Kostya Manenkov contributed to this report.

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Putin can’t contain Russians’ fury over Alexei Navalny arrest

Russian police arrested thousands over the weekend as they tried to shut down protests in at least 66 cities across seven time zones, and more demonstrations will come next weekend. What will it take for autocrat Vladimir Putin to realize that arresting Alexei Navalny was a mistake?

The Kremlin has tried to assassinate Navalny twice, most recently with a Soviet nerve agent, but the opposition leader just keeps coming back. Literally: He returned last week from Berlin, where he’d been recovering from the near-fatal poisoning — only to have his plane redirected to an airport 25 miles from its destination so that police could arrest him far from the supporters who’d gathered to greet him.

He’s been detained for 30 days pending a hearing on old trumped-up charges that could send him to a penal colony for years.

But Navalny has already recorded one of his would-be assassins spilling the beans about the poisoning attempt, and also leaked evidence about Putin’s apparent love-child. His team on Tuesday also released a fresh report on Putinite corruption that has more than 70 million views on YouTube.

Most important, his supporters won’t give up. By one estimate, 35,000 showed up to protest in Moscow, with more crowds all the way to Vladivostock. Meanwhile, Navalny preemptively warned, “I don’t plan to either hang myself on a window grill or cut my veins or throat open with a sharpened spoon.” 

Putin has a tiger by tail.

Protesters clashing with police at a protest in support of Alexei Navalny in Moscow.
REUTERS/Maxim Shemetov/File Photo

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