"Please don't disgrace your son."
How security forces spent two days catching the mother of a police officer from Ukhta, who held a rally with posters against the head of the republic.
Svetlana Zvereva heads the Ukhta city committee of the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, and her son serves in the patrol service. On May 1, she held a workers' solidarity rally, where posters criticizing the republic's head, Vladimir Uyba, were seen. None of the 16 police officers observing the rally raised any objections to the organizer. However, the next day, they declared a violation of the law. They even hinted at potential problems for her son at work. Svetlana Zvereva told NeMoskva about this experience.
Most of the dialogues were reconstructed from the heroine's own words. Fragments of some conversations are confirmed by video recordings available to the editors.
How I looked for the police
The rally we held on May 1st was approved by the Ukhta mayor's office. The application stated that it was dedicated to International Workers' Solidarity Day and would feature sound equipment, posters, and party paraphernalia. We didn't coordinate the posters' themes with anyone.
Right after the officials approved all this, the police called me and said that I should receive a warning.
"I don't owe anything," I say. "You should give me a warning and give me a heads-up."
- Well, maybe so. But you still need to come.
I arrived, and the police station was closed: they'd implemented some kind of "Fortress" plan. I couldn't go in, and the officers couldn't come out to see me. So, I kissed the door and went on about my business.
The next day the same employee calls:
- Come and receive.
- I won't go anymore. Come yourself now.
- Oh, I don’t have any employees, I work alone.
— So what? I work alone too. You need to give it to me, so you come.
In the end, no one came to see me. The next morning they called again: please come. I did, and they gave me the same warning: no stamp, no signature from the responsible police officer.
"Are you going to sign something like that yourself?" I ask.
- Oh, ow! The boss is in a meeting right now and won't be able to sign.
"Well, you know," I say, "I definitely won't come to you a third time. Come yourself."
In the end, they finally persuaded me to wait for the deputy chief, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Shevaldin. It took 20 minutes. We signed the warning and went our separate ways.
How did the rally go?
The rally proceeded calmly, with just over 50 people participating. That's not counting the 16 police officers who maintained order. State Duma deputy Oleg Mikhailov was among those speaking.
The discussions covered a wide range of topics, from landfills and solid waste disposal rates to healthcare and education issues. Criticism of the head of the Komi Republic was also voiced. Deputy Mikhailov, for example, stated that Uyba's poor performance was preventing the region's problems from being addressed, and that such leadership was unfit for purpose. Criticism of Uyba was also present on the signs held by the people: "Uyba resign," "Down with Uyba and his interim government."
There was also a poster mentioning Rovenki, a town in the annexed territories under the auspices of the Komi Republic. Social media users joke that Uyba visits there more often than his own region, and solves local residents' problems there rather than here. Rovenki receives a very reasonable amount of republican budget money, while Komi suffers from a devastating situation with its roads, water supply, and healthcare.
The police saw all these slogans. But no one approached me, as the rally organizer, or reported any violations. So I calmly continued the rally, which lasted almost an hour and a half.
The warning I was given clearly states: “A rally is a mass gathering of citizens in a specific location for the public expression of public opinion regarding current issues of a primarily socio-political nature.”
We peacefully expressed our opinions, discussed current issues, and proposed solutions. I wasn't informed until the next day that the police hadn't liked the posters criticizing Uyba.
How the police were looking for me
On the morning of May 2, some girl called me from an unfamiliar number: “I’m from the police.”
No rank, no position, no first or last name.
“You need to come up,” he says, “and give an explanation about the rally.”
"What specific question are you interested in?" I ask.
— Posters.
- Okay, I'll come and give an explanation. Just send me the summons.
I hung up and that's when it all started.
They immediately found employees: first, three came running to my work, then three more came to my home, pounding on the door. My daughter called: "Mom, someone's breaking down the door." In the end, they came to my house five times during the day. The last visit was at 9:20 PM.
I was in Sosnogorsk [a city near Ukhta] on business all day. Later, they told me they'd been there too, looking.
They even started calling my son: he works at the police station. My son calls me:
- Mom, where are you?
- And what is your purpose in asking?
- Well, my boss calls me and says that your mother is running away from us.
"I'm not running from anyone, I'm working. Let them send a summons by mail, I'll receive it and show up in person."
On the morning of May 3rd, the power went out in my apartment. I called the power supply company and the management company—they had nothing to do with it. I went out to the stairwell and the switch was off. I turned it back on and returned to the apartment. Three minutes later, a National Guard patrol appeared under my window. It was as if they'd installed a camera in the entryway to monitor whether I was home or not.
They started ringing the intercom, and I told them to mail a summons. Because when they start chasing you in such a crowd, you just want to spite them: let them do their job if they're being set on ordinary citizens who pose no threat to society, not rapists or murderers.
How the son was taken hostage
When everyone left, I went to work.
At 4:30 p.m., Deputy Chief of Police Shevaldin arrived. He said they'd wait for an officer and then go to the station to file a report on the administrative offense.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say. "If you wanted to serve me a summons, go ahead and serve it."
— I don’t have it with me, someone will arrive soon.
"Well, if I'm not detained, then I have to go. I can't wait, I have things to do too."
I start to get dressed, he runs after me and grabs my hand: “Don’t make me use force.”
Naturally, I immediately turned on my phone and started recording.
"You're exceeding your authority right now," I say. "On what grounds are you detaining me and not allowing me to move freely?"
Here he started talking about his son:
- Please don't disgrace your son.
- Yes, you are disgracing yourself now.
He advised me to think about the problems my actions could cause my son at work. Although he never explained what exactly I was doing that was criminal.
While they were arguing with him, an investigator arrived with a subpoena for May 7th. They showed photographs of posters against Uyba, claiming this violated the law.
"Then why didn't you come up to me during the rally and tell me to take these posters down?" I ask them.
They say they only approached those who were holding them. Why they didn't approach me and warn me remains unclear.
This whole situation is unpleasant, of course.
And I'm also really upset about our police, who deal with things like this: instead of catching criminals and spending their time on actual law enforcement, they chase me all over the city to hand me a subpoena, which can be sent by mail.
I asked them on whose orders all this was being done: they point upwards.
