I will provisionally call the human rights defenders of the 1960s–80s “old” and the modern ones “new.”
Most of the “old” human rights defenders were religious people, predominantly Christians, and for them, the Ten Commandments of Christ were core values. Some “new” human rights defenders have preserved this perspective on them as a foundation. In the 1960s–80s, human rights were considered a tool for public control over the state, a language for discussing social relations, and nothing more. But the modern human rights movement is significantly larger, more diverse, and more colorful; it includes many representatives of other religions, as well as agnostics and atheists. Some human rights defenders believed then and still believe now that human rights are, in effect, creating what is almost a new religion, a new philosophy. For example, Professor Volodymyr Butkevych, a former judge from Ukraine at the European Court of Human Rights, even said, “The Universal Declaration of Human Rights is my Bible.”
The principal value of human rights advocacy was and remains freedom; it is synonymous with the entire complex of human rights. To be free means to have free rein over one’s own destiny. There is nothing more horrifying than to depend on the will of another person or a state institution.
Dignity was and remains the second key value of human rights advocacy. This refers to universal human dignity, which belongs to everyone, from an infant to a criminal, and not to personal dignity (the same as honor or reputation), which grows as a result of good deeds and is lost through evil ones. Dignity is the best indicator of a violation of freedom. A sense of offended dignity always testifies to injustice, arbitrariness, violence, or even the criminal actions of the one who offended it.
Both freedom and dignity were the most important values for Anatoly Marchenko; indeed, he was prepared to lose his freedom to preserve his dignity. Overall, one could say that the values and principles of human rights advocacy were profoundly close to him, but his adherence to them was unostentatious; for Marchenko, they were as natural as breathing.
Honesty, maximum reliability, and objectivity of information—this principle means, firstly, the impossibility of thinking one thing, saying another, and doing a third, and secondly, working according to the formula of the English court: “to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” This is one of the main differences between human rights and political activity. A politician, at best, is characterized by telling the truth, but not the whole truth. And information that could be harmful to his party can be hidden away. The well-known formula “he’s a son of a bitch, but he’s our son of a bitch” is completely unacceptable for human rights organizations. However, for “new” human rights defenders, this principle has, in my opinion, remained unclaimed; they often build their relationships with the state by trying to achieve compromise in situations where it is impossible. In reality, they should strive for objectivity of information, even if that objectivity does not work in their favor, but they are most often incapable of this. For example, they now turn a blind eye to war crimes possibly being committed by the Ukrainian armed forces.
This principle was highly characteristic of Anatoly Marchenko. He had an organic intolerance for guile in relationships with anyone—be it with people or with state bodies. For example, upon arriving at a prison camp, he reacted coldly to the outstretched arms of Yury Shikhanovich, saying that they had not really socialized even when they were free. As is known, he refused to emigrate to Israel, not being a Jew; for him, it was humiliating.
The human rights defenders of the 1960s–80s rejected the principles of clandestine and armed activity; their work was peaceful, open, and appealed to the law. The slogan of the time was “Observe your own laws!” Although attempts to create underground anti-Soviet organizations continued, the debates on this topic at the time are an anachronism today. All modern human rights organizations are open, non-violent, and based on law, particularly international law. The use of European legal mechanisms, particularly the European Court of Human Rights, has seen special development. In the 1960s–80s, one could not even dream of this; back then, even the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was considered an anti-Soviet document and was confiscated during searches.
An important value for human rights defenders was and is independence—from political positions, from public opinion, from the state. In relation to the state, the “old” human rights defenders were guided by a slightly modified version of Shalamov’s code for a Stalin-era prisoner (“Don’t believe, don’t fear, don’t ask”): do not believe the state’s agents, do not fear them, and do not ask for anything.
Today, independence means even more because it is under much greater threat than in the 1960s–80s—there are many temptations now. It means a principled non-partisanship, a refusal to support any political force, to a priori agree with established social stereotypes, or to accept assistance from the state in any form. However, independence should not devolve into confrontation. The prosecutorial tone of many public activists towards the state and their tendency to blame the authorities for everything is disconcerting. The source of human rights violations is man himself and the structures he creates. We have the state we deserve because we have not managed to create another for ourselves. It is better to profess a philosophy of guilt rather than grievance—it is far more constructive to seek the roots of one’s troubles within oneself than in others. But a significant portion of “new” human rights defenders do not realize this.
The principles “Don’t fear!” and “Don’t ask!” remain relevant for modern human rights advocacy, but “Don’t believe!” is unacceptable today. Since human rights correspond to the state’s duty to observe and ensure them, and the Ukrainian state declares this as its main duty, human rights defenders must engage in a dialogue with it as long as the state is capable of one. Its subject is the state’s real observance of human rights. Therefore, the old formula of human rights advocacy in the 1960s–80s—“the protection of human rights from organized violence perpetrated by the state”—must today be supplemented with: “and assisting the state in ensuring and protecting human rights.”
The principle of interaction between human rights organizations and the state was formulated back in 1988 by Sergey Kovalev: “Honest cooperation between those who disagree.” In everything where I agree with the authorities, I am ready to cooperate with them honestly, and when they make mistakes, I will oppose them using existing legal methods. Interaction with the state requires a certain level of mutual trust and respect. It is difficult to say how Anatoly Tikhonovich would have behaved if he had lived: it seems to me that it would have been difficult for him to interact with government bodies and engage in dialogue with them.
Justice is also a topic of dialogue between human rights defenders and the state. It is necessary to distinguish between two varieties of this value—“procedural” justice, which refers to the result of applying a correctly constructed legal mechanism, and moral justice, which appeals to values that are not embodied in law or are insufficiently covered by it. In this sense, we speak of social justice, political justice, economic justice, and so on. The notion of the inevitability of punishment for a crime, that evil must be punished, is, above all, a manifestation of the sense of justice.
The values of impartiality and tolerance are under much greater threat today than in the 1960s–80s. For a human rights defender, it is essential that all positions be represented in the public discourse. Public life must reflect the left, the right, and centrists—all directions of political thought and social activity. A human rights defender must be tolerant of other opinions, including those contrary to his own. He must respect differences in thought and the diversity of public associations and their goals. Prohibiting certain positions only impoverishes the informational influence on political decision-making. If we imagine a three-tiered decision-making system of information-politics-law as a tree—roots-trunk-canopy—then restricting the freedom of information means the canopy forbids the roots from nourishing the trunk. Such a tree will wither. However, we are talking about tolerance for thoughts and ideas, or, more broadly, for any manifestations of symbolic reality; in physical reality, tolerance for violent acts and arbitrariness is excluded. In the context of Russia’s military aggression and the dominance of deceitful Russian propaganda, these values, along with freedom of opinion, speech, and information, come into conflict with the values of national security and territorial integrity, as well as with national-patriotic sentiments. There was nothing of the sort in the 1960s–80s. This conflict of values must be considered separately in each specific case, as there can be no single solution for all cases.
There are similar problems with the values of humanism and mercy, which did not exist in the 1960s–80s. The “old” human rights defenders were a priori humanists persecuted by the Soviet state, and it was pointless to speak to it of mercy. Today, such conversations are also not very promising as a result of the military conflict with Russia. Moreover, in an environment of growing violence and hatred, these values are not supported by a significant part of civil society, which is consumed by a thirst for revenge. Unfortunately, some organizations that identify as human rights-oriented have not avoided this, whereas for a human rights defender, generally speaking, mercy should be above justice. A sense of pity for victims of violence can mean more than the state’s motivation to achieve justice. A human rights defender cannot be indifferent.
One of my occupations, starting from March 2022, is managing a major project dedicated to collecting information and documenting crimes committed by the Russian military against civilians and civilian objects in Ukraine. These can be preliminarily qualified as war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide. We have recorded data on tens of thousands of civilian deaths and injuries, destroyed or significantly damaged civilian objects, and people unlawfully detained and abducted in the occupied territories, tormented by torture in captivity. We provide not only legal but also psychological, financial, medical, and humanitarian assistance to the victims of these crimes and their families. Thousands of families have received it.
Naturally, experiencing even a fraction of this nightmare in one’s own life gives rise to hatred for the leadership of the Russian state and the Russian military. This hatred is often transferred to everything Russian—the country, its citizens, its language, its literature, and its art. One could say that it is becoming all-encompassing.
It is precisely due to the dominance of hatred in the public consciousness that the axiology of human rights is felt so acutely today: truth is above the law; above truth is justice; above justice is mercy; above mercy is love. Hatred destroys, first and foremost, those who hate; it empties the soul. It is natural only on the battlefield, where a Russian soldier must be destroyed. But as soon as he is taken prisoner, hatred must recede. At the very least, to protect oneself from turning into a murderer of the unarmed.
Hatred for all Russians is irrational: people should not be judged by their citizenship, but only by their actions and words. And one must not forget that although there are few open opponents of the Putin regime—no more than 5% of the Russian Federation's population—they do speak out against Russian aggression and help Ukrainian prisoners, facing criminal prosecution with sentences of up to 25 years in prison. These people often help Ukrainian refugees leave Russia and raise money for them.
I am convinced that we need to work together with Russian human rights defenders to protect our prisoners of war and civilian prisoners; without them, we simply cannot do anything. With words of gratitude to these fearless people, who continue the traditions of the “old” human rights defenders, and Anatoly Marchenko in particular, I would like to conclude my speech.
