Time to read: 19 minutes(s)

Fireman

What happened to Vladimir Rumyantsev, the founder of Radio Vovan, who served three years in prison for "fakes about the army"?

Vladimir Rumyantsev, a stoker from Vologda, was among the first Russians to receive a prison sentence in 2022 for allegedly spreading "fake news" about the army. But his story stood out: not only did he write anti-war posts on social media, but he also used a homemade radio station to broadcast broadcasts from media outlets closed in Russia. At the end of February 2025, he was released and returned to his secluded life, now brightened by the pen pals he made during his time in prison. Journalist Ivan Kaigorodov traveled to Vologda to find out how Vladimir Rumyantsev is living since his release from prison and how the former political prisoner's daily life has changed thanks to the widespread attention surrounding his fate.

Author of text and photo: Ivan Kaygorodov

We are releasing this story in collaboration with New Tab

With fire and gas

Today, more than a year and a half after his release, 65-year-old Vladimir Rumyantsev is rarely mentioned in the media. However, during his trial and imprisonment, his colleagues closely followed his fate, and in many publications, Vladimir was featured primarily as a stoker. He truly dedicated decades to this profession, which became legendary in the late Soviet years. In his youth, Rumyantsev worked in Vologda at a gas processing plant, at a repair shop, and in a cafeteria, then found a job at a machine tool factory, where he worked for over twenty years. He then moved to several brick factories, doing more or less the same job in each one—maintaining boilers, furnaces, and steam units, ensuring a stable heat supply. In other words, he was a stoker.

"I've lived practically my entire life with fire and gas," Vladimir says. It's clear he likes the sound of it.

The physically grueling job still left enough time for personal matters, so Vladimir took up amateur radio as a hobby. Beginning around the mid-1980s, he was constantly acquiring various parts and equipment, assembling them, listening to them, and experimenting. Many people did this back then. He carried his interest in radio through the decades—and it was this interest that ultimately led him to prison. Like the stoker in Alexei Balabanov's film of the same name, Rumyantsev, who simply did his job and pursued creativity in his spare time, experienced firsthand the injustice of the times he lived through. But at first, nothing foreshadowed the troubles to come.

"I went on AliExpress and discovered that you can buy everything you need to set up your own little radio station there. So I thought, 'Why not give it a try?'"

"Try it"—because for Vladimir, the whole thing initially seemed like a gamble. He couldn't believe that an FM radio transmitter, which private individuals are not allowed to use without a license in Russia (the FM spectrum is strictly controlled by the state), had safely crossed the border without anyone confiscating it or even showing any interest.

"In the summers of '78 and '79, I was incredibly happy to pick up radio stations from Poland, Bulgaria, Radio Nalchik (from the Caucasus), and other places on VHF. <…> Then I tried to pick up Western radio voices. I think it was in '88 that I listened to Voynovich's 'Moscow 2042' on Radio Liberty. I didn't expect it to become a reality."(from Vladimir Rumyantsev's letters from the colony)

One could chalk it up to timing—it was the relatively vegetarian year of 2017. But after his release in 2025, Rumyantsev deliberately went online again and was surprised to discover that such transmitters were still readily available on Yandex Market. He checked out of pure curiosity: Vladimir no longer works much in radio engineering—he says his eyesight is poor, and he has plenty of other things to do. But in the 1980s, it had been a significant part of his life:

"If it was possible to listen to the Voice of America, I don't think anyone would turn down the opportunity," says Vladimir, recalling the early years of his passion.

These were also the first years of his fascination with politics. Having listened to "enemy radio stations," Rumyantsev greeted the 1990s as a convinced democrat:

"August 22 [1991], when the coup was suppressed, was the happiest day for me: I remember the intense emotional uplift I felt. I'd just gotten my boiler operator's license, settled into my job, and the management really liked me, especially since I wasn't much of a drinker. In the '90s, we were just learning for the first time what real home appliances were and what comfort really was."

Overall, these were the golden times in Rumyantsev's life, lasting until roughly the mid-1920s. The stoker lived a peaceful and secluded life, working, pursuing his hobbies, and listening to political programs on the radio. Having acquired a radio transmitter from AliExpress, he built a small radio station at home, which he ironically named "Radio Vovan." Since 2017, the station has broadcast almost exclusively music or radio dramas that Rumyantsev downloaded online, and it had exactly one listener—Vovan himself. Or so he thought.

Dad stopped by

Rumyantsev loved to take long walks from his home to the walls of the Vologda Kremlin and the Vologda River embankment—for his health and his mood. He wasn't a fan of streaming services or music subscriptions, preferring a more casual format. He'd take headphones and a radio tuned to his own station with his favorite playlists on his walks. He also didn't use his smartphone much—if his mobile data connection was cut off, he didn't have a smartphone, and a radio was somehow more reliable.

"I was testing my radio transmitter for range," he recalls. "One day, I turned it up to maximum power, left the house with the receiver, and walked down the street. By the time I got to Kremlin Square, the sound was barely audible."

In Vologda, it's no more than five hundred meters. It's no surprise that Vladimir remained unnoticed for many years, despite knowing that, technically, his hobby was nothing more than radio hooliganism, an illegal broadcast.

What is more surprising, according to Rumyantsev, is something else: a few kilometers from his house, as he says, there is one of radio monitoring stations i, which discovered its signal only five years after the launch of Radio Vovan.

And this didn't happen just any time, but in the spring of 2022, when Rumyantsev was denounced for a post on VKontakte. The post, according to the stoker, was about Putin "going nuts," and he allegedly filed a police report. one of the deputy governors of the Vologda region iBy that time, the subpoena for Radio Vovan had changed significantly: after February 24, 2022, it featured significantly less music and far more political podcasts, including from the then-closed Ekho Moskvy and other opposition outlets. In April, FSB officers searched Rumyantsev's home, confiscating the ill-fated transmitter from AliExpress, and in July, he was sent to pretrial detention.

Ultimately, Rumyantsev was convicted both for posts criticizing the war in Ukraine and for his radio broadcasts. In December 2022, the court sentenced him to three years in a general regime penal colony for disseminating knowingly false information on his VKontakte page and on the radio.

"When I entered the pretrial detention center, Khodorkovsky's words were running through my head," Vladimir recalls. "He advised treating situations like these as if you were being held captive by the enemy. And what can I do if I'm being held captive by the enemy? For example, adhere to the rule 'listen more, talk less.' I generally tried to pester the guards as little as possible, resolving matters through other prisoners."

This principle is the essence of Rumyantsev. He was imprisoned not for speaking, but for listening and allowing others to listen. It is precisely this quality that his longtime friend, historian Ivan Dzhukha, who founded the "Alternative" voters' club in Vologda in the late 80s, points to.

"In 1989, we began preparing for the first free elections, which would feature not just one candidate, as had been the custom in the USSR until then, but several," recalls Juha. "In this spirit, a group of students and teachers formed; I was teaching geology at the time. Without further ado, we named our club 'Alternative'—we posted an ad, people came, and Rumyantsev came too. We studied the Constitution and delved into the new electoral law. Volodya always came, sat down, rarely spoke or said anything, but listened very attentively and focused. That's what made him memorable."

"I can describe my attitude toward the 1990s as the brightest period of my life. Despite financial difficulties and working two jobs, there was hope, and each year was better than the last. Just compare Yeltsin's 1999 to 1991. Even despite the default of 1998, it was like night and day." (from Vladimir Rumyantsev's letters from the colony)

Overall, it seems that it was precisely this character trait, coupled with considerable political literacy, that helped Vladimir survive three years in a Vologda prison colony. In any case, he sees no other explanation, although he himself is quite surprised that, without any special status or connections, he escaped the repressive measures that were actively applied to his fellow prisoners:

"I had a neighbor, he was about 50 years old. He was thrown in solitary confinement for sitting on his bunk and drinking tea. How many times have I done that! And how many times have I lain on my bunk at the wrong time! And nothing happened—two reprimands. And Tushkanov i he was lying there at the wrong time - he went to solitary confinement, and then SUS i.

Vladimir doesn't name the charges under which his less fortunate neighbors were serving their sentences, but he says that there weren't many "political" prisoners around him: mostly "first-timers" who ended up in prison for drug-related offenses.

"I looked once, and on every bed there were signs with the year of birth: where it was 2000, where it was 2005. And the attitude, of course, was more respectful [towards me], because the young people were immediately like, 'Oh, dad's moved in!'"

"...while I'm cultivating my cultural awareness, I'm reading Doctor Zhivago. I somehow didn't have the luxury of it in my youth, but in prison, it's the perfect time to gather my thoughts and consider what's happened in this world. <...> ...nevertheless, there's no reason to be despondent; what's happening in Russia can't be a beacon for the rest of the world. Anyone who wants the master key to heaven will receive it. Those who don't will remain in hell." (from Vladimir Rumyantsev's correspondence with Novaya Gazeta during his imprisonment)

Rumyantsev, Rumyantsev, Rumyantsev

Vladimir's health is currently not the best, but he doesn't complain much: you could say he's lucky.

"It could definitely be worse than it is," he is sure. "You won't get any help in the colony; it's better not to get sick there at all."

One day in May 2024, he woke up in his cell and realized his right eye was blind, and his left was only half-sighted—a black spot obscured part of his field of vision. Vladimir struggled to his feet and almost groped his way to the toilet. In the bright light, his vision almost returned, though the brightness remained dim: in the middle of the day, the sun's rays took on a sunset hue.

Predictably, the paramedic couldn't do anything about it and put Vladimir on a waiting list for a hospital examination. Three months later, he still hadn't reached his appointment, but his vision problems seemed to have resolved themselves: by August, Rumyantsev's vision was almost back to normal and, overjoyed, he was discharged from the waiting list. He hadn't particularly wanted to go to the hospital from the start: there was nothing good or pleasant about being transported. He rushed it, because in the fall, his eye problems returned and worsened. Meanwhile, he continued working "industrial work," doing a job that wasn't particularly difficult but did require eye strain—cutting and sewing reflective strips onto work clothes and other such small tasks.

"But then someone sent me a parcel with a bag of oranges," Vladimir recalls. "I ate the oranges and the problems disappeared—for good this time."

He still believes his recovery was thanks to the vitamins. We don't know to what extent the oranges helped restore his vision, but it seems this story clearly demonstrates how important parcels can be for inmates in Russian prisons (just remember that sometimes parcels can be harmful, so you should follow the rules when sending them). some rules).

After his release, Rumyantsev visited an ophthalmologist, who discovered that he had cataracts, but it is much easier to cope with the disease in freedom, which is what he is doing little by little.

Eye problems weren't the only thing Vladimir took with him from the zone. Or rather, among all the problems, they were the only thing. But, as strange as it may sound, he also took something good with him. Namely, a whole bag of letters and postcards.

"...in my entire life, I've never received as many letters as I did during those less than two months of imprisonment. Somehow, I don't consider myself a hero. It's just that, given the two paths I had to take, between 'Disgusting' and 'Scary,' I chose the latter. Sooner or later, this will end; it's just a shame for the country's wasted time." (from Vladimir Rumyantsev's letters from the colony)

Thanks to the activity of independent media, many learned about Rumyantsev's case. People began writing to him, wanting to support the lonely political prisoner they didn't know, and rightly reasoning that he, unlike media figures like Ilya Yashin, might lack communication and support. After Rumyantsev, along with four other Russian political prisoners, was awarded the Boris Nemtsov Prize i for "courage in defending democratic rights and freedoms," the flow of letters increased.

"I had a duffel bag I was carrying when I left the prison zone," Vladimir recalls, "and it contained five packages of greeting cards. My entire luggage consisted mostly of cards—letters, of course, I couldn't take everything, but I did my best to take the cards."

*Rumyantsev took hundreds of postcards and letters with him from the zone and now carefully keeps them in his house.*

Rumyantsev takes the contents of those very same packages out of the closet and dumps them on the sofa—hundreds of envelopes he's carefully preserved since the day of his release. Some papers are kept separately—for example, someone sent him a cartoon fox drawn on a Zona Telecom letterhead. The stoker loved it so much that he placed the drawing under glass in the sideboard.

"I'm sometimes sitting in the smoking room, and they bring letters, read out the recipients, and they're almost all for me: Rumyantsev. Rumyantsev, Rumyantsev. Of course, I didn't even have time to physically answer them all. In one day, about 30 letters arrived, how could I answer them? After all, I'm a reader, not a writer. And you can't write like a carbon copy—it's somehow impolite to people, and you feel like an idiot. Some [letters], of course, you highlight especially for various reasons, only then can you write."

Despite Vladimir's difficulty responding (partly due to his vision problems), he still managed to establish several meaningful conversational partners and pen pals. The situation was further complicated by censorship, or perhaps not censorship but sheer carelessness, as a result of which letters were constantly getting lost.

"I was sometimes surprised that I ever got anything at all. I stopped corresponding with one woman for so long: she wouldn't write to me, wouldn't write, and then six months later, she'd send me a letter asking why I hadn't written in so long."

Rumyantsev maintained several of these contacts even after his release: now he not only corresponds with people he met in prison, but also calls them whenever possible, as well as those who wrote to him "from the outside." In the former case, it's a kind of volunteer mission (though Vladimir himself is against such pompous designations); in the latter, it's simply a pleasant conversation.

Radio for one listener

While we talk, I'm photographing Vladimir's apartment. He describes it as a "bachelor's place." It's certainly a bit of a mess, which makes for interesting photos. At one point, though, I realize I might end up capturing some very personal items.

— Is it okay that I rent everything from you here?

“Listen, what difference does it make? I’ve already had two searches here,” Vladimir sighs.

*Vladimir lives in a state of creative disarray and describes his apartment as a bachelor's apartment.*

But that was before his arrest and prison term. After his imprisonment, his life immediately returned to its usual calm. The day after Vladimir returned home, a criminal investigation officer visited him, three days later a local police officer stopped by, and that was it.

To say that Vladimir Rumyantsev has been forgotten would be overly dramatic—rather, he's reclaimed his familiar way of life. Texting and communicating online are quite sufficient for him, though he speaks with some bitterness about the lack of any real-life offline contacts. But even here, the issue isn't so much the absence itself as the reasons for it:

"I don't feel like seeing old friends. I had this one friend, we grew up in the same building, but after 2022, I went to his VKontakte page and saw nothing but pro-war reposts. Why would I see him?"

"I catch myself thinking that under the current circumstances, I don't want to go home at all. There's simply nothing to do there. I don't want to interact with the aggressively indifferent masses. And immersing myself in the world of audiobooks, radio plays, and old radio programs is no longer possible. The music library I've been collecting for over ten years has been confiscated and destroyed."
(from Vladimir Rumyantsev's correspondence with Novaya Gazeta during his imprisonment)

Rumyantsev's parents died in 2009, leaving only one brother as his remaining relative. Vladimir wrote about his difficult relationship with his brother in a letter to journalists while in prison:

"A year and a half ago, my brother was elected chairman of the city veterans' council. After retiring, he took up veterans' affairs. He restored a hospital car from a train assembled at the VPVRRZ in June 41. We discussed the latest events in March of this year. I accused him of supporting a 'special operation' he had made in an interview with some internet channel. He responded by warning me about the consequences of my posts. That's how we parted ways."

After his release, Vladimir tried to reconnect with his brother and called him, but his wife answered. This was in the summer of 2026, just after attacks Ukrainian drones at an oil refinery in Moscow's Kapotnya district, and the conversation somehow naturally turned to discussing this news.

"I explained the situation to her, and she said, 'I've been listening to too many Ukrainian channels again.' And she hung up."

Since then, Vladimir hasn't initiated any more contacts and doesn't plan to—he thinks it's better for everyone:

"My brother recently suffered his second stroke, so why worry him in this situation? God bless him."

Rumyantsev hasn't become a local celebrity in Vologda: no one recognizes him on the street or asks him any questions. Every other day, Vladimir works as a stoker. After serving his sentence, he didn't have to change jobs, not even his profession. At the small woodworking company where he worked in the boiler room before his arrest, fortunately, no one cared about his former colleague's criminal record.

"In December [of 2025], the management found my phone number. They remembered, called, and said there was a vacancy opening in January. So, I accepted. It's a private business, so it's fine. Besides, I read the reference they sent me from work to the court: according to it, I shouldn't be brought to trial, but nominated for some kind of award. On the first day when I returned, the director stopped by at the end of my shift and said he was glad to see me.

Vladimir has restored his home radio station. It operates as before, with one important exception: its creator, out of harm's way, no longer goes on air and listens to his own station only at home. The program still features the same music and news podcasts.

"I'm still keeping an eye on what's happening in the country," says Rumyantsev, "but I don't see any good prospects. Neither for myself nor for the country as a whole. It's all very sad."

Having abandoned radio hooliganism, Vladimir has taken up a new hobby: he has a synthesizer and a MIDI keyboard at home, so from time to time he creates simple, charming melodies in music editors. But he doesn't really showcase these – he has little material yet (a couple of songs where he sings karaoke to his own music can be found on VKontakte), and there's not much anyone to listen to them.

Ivan Dzhukha plans to visit the now-released Rumyantsev, whose case he's been closely following, on his next visit to Vologda. He wanted to visit him in pretrial detention, but Vladimir's lawyer advised against a personal meeting, so Dzhukha simply handed over a book by Varlam Shalamov for the stoker.

"I remember Volodya as a man of unbending will, a believer in ideals. And what ideals did we have back then, thirty years ago? Despite all the differences between the various democratic parties that were being formed at the time, they all shared a common desire for truth, including historical and political truth, for speaking about what had never been spoken before. And when I heard about Volodya's case, I thought, yes, this is the man I remember: silent, focused, whose desire for truth remains steadfast.

Права человека freedom of speech Vologda region

Fireman

With fire and gas

Dad stopped by

Rumyantsev, Rumyantsev, Rumyantsev

Radio for one listener

Related posts