This unaltered story [1] was originally published on OpenDemocracy.org.
License [2]: Creative Commons 4.0 - Attributions/No Derivities/Int'l.
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When you are fighting a police state, there are no safe spaces

By:   []

Date: 2021-11

“Think about yourself! If you die of overwork today, there will be no one to help others tomorrow!” It’s hard to recall how many times I have said this to the human rights defenders and other activists I work with over the past five years.

One year ago, our activist support hub, Open Space, launched a call centre where dozens of psychologists give free advice and support to people working or volunteering in Russian politics and civil society. Most requests for help refer to two types of trauma: encounters with the Russian police state, whether law enforcement directly or the civilian bureaucracy; or burnout and a lack of support within the country’s non-profit sector itself.

Indeed, just as the Russian state has ramped up pressure on society in recent years, so civil society has faced its own internal problems. Several scandals have erupted at non-profit organisations and liberal media outlets, some of them beginning with accusations of sexual harassment. But as details emerged, it turned out that these cases also involved exploitative labour practices, authoritarian management and unhealthy working environments.

While people entering Russia’s non-profit sector or politics generally expect to deal with threats from the state, facing toxic relationships and abuses of power within a group of colleagues – indeed, comrades – is more surprising, and leads to an even greater feeling of pressure. But what place do possible responses to this – safe spaces, self-care, personal boundaries – have in an authoritarian state like Russia, where the risks of political struggle and civic activity are so high?

“My employees shouldn’t have time for a bath”

I cut my teeth among Russia’s older generation of human rights defenders, people who by the age of 50 had personal graveyards of friends to match any Vietnam War veteran. They had also completely ruined their health, and any spark in their eyes and other familiar attributes of a living person were long gone. I still remember my former boss in a human rights organisation proudly talking about why his employees had showers, rather than baths installed at their apartments. “My employees should not have time for a bath,” he quipped.

I observed a whole team of bright-eyed young people who came to work in Russia’s non-profit sector in the early 1990s. Many of them burned out without seeing any return for or meaning in their work. I wanted to see healthy, beautiful, happy people around me, trying to make life better together. And so I adopted the principle of “save yourself first, then others”, with my usual enthusiasm. It was a principle that began to gain more and more weight in public discourse.

But over time, I increasingly understood the ambiguity of the situation. After all, I have never managed to do anything beautiful, strong or important in my life without pushing myself to the extreme, without overcoming my own internal voice saying “I cannot do this” and “I am scared”, without sleepless nights and, ultimately, without losing a piece of myself in the process.
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