They have been freed from the hell of their Russian prison cells. Some are back home in the United States or Germany; others are temporarily stateless, kicked out of their Russian homeland with no time to make plans for the future. But they are free, and they will survive and thrive.

They are the lucky sixteen: former hostages of Vladimir Putin who were traded on August 1st for eight of his people — spies, thugs, cyber criminals, and a convicted murderer. He calls his eight returnees “heroes,” while to him our sixteen are “traitors.” And Vladimir Putin does not abide traitors . . . either real or imagined.

The years-long, incredibly complex negotiations that resulted in this week’s historic prisoner swap may at last be over; but the fallout is yet to be seen. And there will be fallout.

Putin’s Deputy Chairman of the Russian Security Council, Dmitry Medvedev — as always, sparing no drop of venom — openly threatened the opposition figures, saying in a post on Telegram that they “pose an existential threat to today’s Russia. They should not forget the transience of their existence in this world.” [DPA International, August 4, 2024.]

And in case that wasn’t clear enough, he went on to advise them to always “look around with caution,” to “hide under new names” and “actively disguise themselves.” [Shweta Kukreti, Hindustan Times, August 2, 2024.]

But to justify their release, he added that: “[While] it would be desirable to see the traitors of Russia rot behind bars . . . it’s more useful to get our guys out.”

So . . . is it safe to assume Medvedev’s not going to be running for any Humanitarian of the Year award any time soon?

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But this is not new. Actual threats and physical attacks have long been made against Russian dissidents who have already fled the country. Leonid Volkov, a former associate of the late activist Alexei Navalny, was brutally attacked by thugs with hammers outside his home in Vilnius, Lithuania, a few months ago. He was lucky to have survived.

Donald Tusk, Prime Minister of Poland, said the two Polish football “hooligans” (his word) had been paid to attack Volkov by a Belarusian man working for Russian intelligence. All three have been arrested . . . but it is certain that there are countless others out there, more than willing to be hired at the right price. [Will Vernon, BBC News, August 3, 2024.]

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Dmitry Gudkov, a Russian opposition politician living in exile in an undisclosed EU country, flew to London last summer for a friend’s birthday. On arrival at Luton Airport, he was approached by two plain-clothes UK police officers, who had been waiting for him — not to arrest him — but to warn him that he was on a list of people considered to be in danger. They asked where he would be staying and what phone he would be using. [BBC News, id.]

Reading the description of Gudkov’s experience, I immediately wondered whether those two “officers” were indeed members of UK law enforcement. Or were they Russian messengers, hired to plant the seeds of doubt and fear, and to track his movements? I assume their identity was verified by Mr. Gudkov, who took the warning seriously. But my initial doubts stem, not from paranoid delusions, but from the reality of the way Russia’s security forces actually operate.

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Another anti-Kremlin activist contacted by British police was the founder of the Russian Democratic Society, Ksenia Maximova. She said they told her “they needed to discuss the safety of me and my family,” and advised her not to travel to certain countries where Russian agents operate more freely. [BBC News, id.]

Maximova stated that “[The Kremlin is] stepping up the campaign against ‘enemies,’ that’s absolutely true. They’re tightening the screws.” She and others have noticed an increase in cyber attacks. [Id.]

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Alesya Marokhovskaya is a Russian investigative journalist living in Prague. She felt she was safe there. But she has been receiving anonymous messages, one saying, “Parasites can’t sleep in peace . . .” She thought it might be “some crazy Czech guy who was pro-Putin and had recognised me on the street.” But she moved to a new home, “to make it harder for them.” [BBC News, id.]

And then the messages became more sinister. They called her a “scumbag,” and threatened to find her “wherever she walks her wheezing dog.” She really does have a dog . . . and it really does wheeze when it goes for walks. So she notified the Czech police.

Later, when she was preparing to fly to Sweden for a conference, she received threats including details of her flight, her seat number, and the hotel she had booked. “It was clear they had high-level access to documents. It looks like the behaviour of the Russian state,” she said. [BBC News, id.]

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These are just four of the horror stories coming from Russians forced to live in exile because they opposed the policies and actions of the Putin regime . . . proof that Vladimir Putin’s reach is long and deadly. While he sits in the Kremlin, himself under threat of arrest in accordance with a warrant issued by the International Criminal Court, his goons are scattered around Europe — and who knows where else? — to do his dirty work for him. The occupants of the Kremlin have always been known for their short tempers and long memories.

As Alesya Marokhovskaya said:

“When I left Russia and came to Prague, I had this illusion of security. Now I realise that [Russian intelligence services] can get their hands on people almost anywhere in Europe. I can’t say I’m not afraid, because I am.” [BBC News, id.]

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I know I would be.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
8/5/24