Not in vain: what can we take from Navalny's death?

Why we must remain politicised and retain our resolve

Remarkable political figures have always been few and far between. And these days, political figures seem to be remarkable for all the wrong reasons.

But sometimes it’s not about who these figures are. It’s about the way they inspire and enable us. And despite the nit-picking that can go on in our political arenas, the way that our politicians (and even we) can feel constantly scrutinised for imperfection: our inspiration need not be perfect. In fact, it’s probably better if they’re not.

At the risk of stating the obvious, Navalny, and any legacy he might leave, are Russian. Those acting within the Russian political sphere are best equipped to understand him, and to enact any legacy that he might have left them. (In this I’m not going to pretend that I’m an authority on Navalny, nor Russian politics in general. Like many, I’m sure, I sought reputable figures to help me understand Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and it’s from those sources that my thoughts arise. I’m particularly drawing inspiration from this long live discussion from Vlad Vexler)

Although Navalny is Russian, it doesn’t mean we can’t reflect, think about our own political situation, and see what we might learn from Russia. (Or, indeed, any other political system.)

Navalny did an extraordinary thing in Putin’s Russia: he politicised the populace. Gave them a sense that there was something to work towards, and a reason to take those risks. Or at least the space to imagine an alternative to the current regime.

Without that space, people fall into a political anomie, a disengagement, or they treat politics as spectacle rather than something that they have a stake in. We become depoliticised.

It’s something that Vexler has long argued is a risk for our democracies. That we no longer feel we have a part to play in our societies, and we focus only on our immediate circumstances.

Photo by David Clode on Unsplash

I’m not sure all depoliticisation is a bad thing – there are certain things that need not be the subject of public debate. The value of pi, for example, is unlikely to change (no matter how much we might want it to). There are likely complexities involved in the management of a country that are uncontroversial and not worth the limited attention span of the general public. As our world grows ever more complex, perhaps some elements of depoliticisation are a necessary evil.

There are also examples where politicisation might be less than desirable, because of problems like the tyranny of the majority or the principle of less eligibility. Cases where people need to be protected, their human rights respected, even when the populace can’t or won’t empathise with them. (Refugees, prisoners, some marginalised groups, for example). I don’t know if we can depoliticise these issues – or even if we should – but I sometimes wish that we could agree to a minimum standard the state must be held to (and we could trust it would actually be held to). Not just when dealing with us and those we care about, but when dealing with all people – yes, even them. The fact that I am not a refugee, not a prisoner, not subject to the coercive control of the state – I consider it an accident of birth. Even if I don’t like the outsiders all that much – by protecting them, I protect myself as well.

But politicisation is about far more than the desire to punish or expel outsiders. It’s also about feeling a sense of belonging, and a possibility to make a difference within a community. It’s something that we’re losing in our societies. There’s less a sense of national cohesion, a sense that our countries are there for us. It’s much more about wealth, usually – or which group we’re apparently supposed to hate this week.

I feel this sense of belonging and agency slipping away from me. Reflecting on Navalny’s death caused me to reconsider my post from last week, when I questioned what options I had beyond anger and apathy. (And I feel much more for the Russians who, in the wake of Navalny’s death, have no meaningful outlet for the anger they might be feeling.) My options are limited – they are less limited than those of Navalny’s supporters.

Photo by Blake Guidry on Unsplash

There is an inevitability to the sense of the world order, the vertical of power. And there will be – until there is not. One day Navalny’s supporters, or others like them, will find an opportunity within the cracks of the Putin regime, and change will come. (Change is inevitable in all things – I can’t know what the result of that change will be, and I don’t believe that there’s an arc towards justice. I just know that change is inevitable)

I don’t know how change will come. How we begin to appreciate the humanity of all people, not just our own.  How we let all our citizens feel a part of something bigger, agents in their own destiny. Rather than captive to the whims of uncaring politicians and the multinationals they serve.

The thing that really scares me is how openly some people are talking about other people as ‘lost’; unreachable. Unable to be persuaded, and so people who should be left to their delusions.

It doesn’t scare me because I don’t understand it. I do understand it. As societies we’ve fragmented into different silos of experience, different realities. Sometimes I read things and wonder if there are separate dialects of English for different political allegiances. There are certainly triggering concepts in some dialects that mean nothing to me.

It would certainly be easier if I could just disregard those people. If we could just disregard the foreign language they speak, the concerns they have which make little or no sense in the reality I inhabit.

I don’t have the luxury to do that, though. These ‘others’ are the people who are reacting to our societal malaise with anger. They are re-engaging in politics: populist politics. They want to burn it all down and start again, no matter the cost.

Those at the margins will be among the first to be sacrificed.  It might not be me. But it might be those I care about. And as a marginalised person, there’s no way I can be safe in a world engulfed by that anger.

Photo by Andy Watkins on Unsplash

We need to politicise, and find politics that works for all of us. No matter what we think of those whose anger is so palpable - even if we struggle to muster empathy or understanding. They are part of our shared politics. It’s a way to protect ourselves and one another.

We must look for the cracks. The chances to empower ourselves, and our fellow citizens.

That, I hope, will be Navalny’s legacy.

How do you find your courage, and will to persist, when things seem impossible? How do you protect yourself and those you love? As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts below.

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