The western delusion of the Russian opposition

Opposition politician and publicist Vladimir Kara-Murza makes the sign of the cross at the place of Boris Nemtsov's murder in Moscow. February 27th, 2021. Photo: Mihail Siergiejevicz / wikimedia.org

On October 2nd, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE) decided to establish a “platform for dialogue” with Russian democratic forces in exile. The initiative aims to institutionalise engagement with opposition figures who, according to PACE, need to be “persons of the highest moral standing,” committed to Council of Europe values, Ukraine’s sovereignty, independence and territorial integrity, and regime change in Russia.

However, there remains a profound gap between western expectations and the attitudes of people inside Russia toward these opposition figures in exile, both in terms of values and their actual potential to mobilise, unite, and represent Russian society.

The delusion of representation

There is a significant disconnect between western assumptions, public attitudes inside Russia, and the Russian opposition in exile, often positioned as a political mediator. One side of this delusion lies with the West, which assumes that these figures represent Russian society, hold political authority, and enjoy meaningful support among Russian citizens. The other side lies with the opposition itself, which appears to internalise and reproduce this perceived legitimacy.

PACE explicitly frames Russian opposition forces in exile as a “legitimate alternative to Putin’s regime”. Similarly, The World Forum referred to Vladimir Kara-Murza as a Russian “president-in-exile” during a panel titled Russia after Putin. Kara-Murza presents himself as a former political prisoner, while western media provide him with platforms and portray him as an authoritative figure in Russian politics. Similar attitudes are expressed towards other figures. This shows how western institutions, organisations and media often fail to distinguish between political aspirations and the reality on the ground.

Public attitudes inside Russia absolutely contrast with these assumptions. Every third Russian believes that émigrés are traitors to the motherland, while 40 per cent think the émigrés do not believe in Russia’s future. Overall, more than 70 per cent hold negative views toward people who have left the country. Under these conditions, it is unsurprising that opposition figures in exile are not positively perceived. The reality is even worse. Among the approximately 40 per cent of Russians who believe the country is moving in the wrong direction, figures such as Yulia Navalnaya, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, and Garry Kasparov are assessed negatively. An absolute majority of Russians are not even aware of Kara-Murza. Russian society does not consider these individuals politically significant, and their impact on public opinion inside the country remains extremely limited.

Beyond a lack of recognition, some opposition figures have actively alienated key segments of Russian society, particularly ethnic minorities. A most recent example is Kara-Murza, who argued that ethnic Russians find it psychologically harder to kill Ukrainians because they are, in his view, culturally, linguistically, religiously, and historically very close, stating that “we are the same”. He suggested that for people from “another culture,” it is easier to kill Ukrainians. This statement was widely criticised by representatives of ethnic minorities and considered factually incorrect: the majority of people committing war crimes in Ukraine are of Slavic appearance and bear Slavic names. The statement was also condemned as colonialist, racist, and white-nationalist, and for implicitly denying Ukrainian nationhood, dehumanizing ethnic non-Russians echoing Kremlin propaganda.

According to a PACE resolution, one third of the seats on the “Platform for Dialogue” are reserved for representatives of Indigenous Peoples and national minorities. However, authorized representatives of these communities report that the Russian opposition largely avoids meaningful engagement with them and argue that the opposition in exile does not express their voices. Ethnic minorities constitute roughly one third of Russia’s population and include more than 190 ethnic groups, most living in peripheral regions far from Moscow and St Petersburg. This disconnect extends beyond ethnic minorities and reflects a wider gap between the opposition in exile and those it claims to represent.

Among Russians who oppose Putin but have remained inside the country, many view the opposition in exile as having lost touch with Russia’s current realities, narratives, and societal feedback. Activists in Russia view the exiles as adopting a position of moral superiority while “teaching from a safe distance”, and consider their impact insignificant while staying abroad. Even among Russian émigrés, there is a widespread sense that existing opposition structures do not represent them, despite opposition leaders actively engaging with western institutions on issues such as emigrant rights and sanctions advocacy.

The “liberal” opposition itself largely originates from major urban centres and enjoyed its highest support in the 1990s and early 2000s. By 2016, it had lost two-thirds of its self-identified liberal supporters and increasingly became the political preference of a narrow, educated, and relatively wealthy segment of society, concentrated primarily in Moscow. Today, its political engagement largely centres on corruption, rather than offering a broader political and foreign policy vision.

Despite these realities, western institutions continue to invest political and symbolic capital in bringing Russian opposition forces to platforms such as PACE, actors who lack support, legitimacy, and authority inside Russia. This contrasts sharply with the united Belarusian opposition under Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, which, even under conditions of fraudulent elections, demonstrated significant popular support. Besides lack of legitimacy, what fundamentally distinguishes the Russian opposition from the Belarusian case is the absence of structural unity, an absence that makes claims of representation not only overstated but increasingly untenable.

The delusion of potential unity

Several opposition groups currently operate in exile, often presented to western audiences as pluralistic but potentially unifiable democratic actors capable of challenging Putin’s regime.

The most prominent is the Anti-Corruption Foundation (FBK), founded by Alexei Navalny. Its core activities focus on exposing corruption, promoting democratic reforms, and advocating for the release of political prisoners. Today, its most visible figures include Yulia Navalnaya, Navalny’s widow, Leonid Volkov, Maria Pevchikh, and Lyubov Sobol.

Another key platform is the Free Russia Forum, founded by Garry Kasparov and Ivan Tyutrin. It advocates the complete dismantling of Putin’s dictatorship, restoration of Ukraine’s territorial integrity, and liberation of all Russian-occupied territories. The forum serves as a coordination space for exiled opposition leaders and intellectuals. Prominent participants include Ilya Ponomarev, Marat Gelman, and Leonid Nevzlin.

The Anti-War Committee of Russia was established after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Mikhail Khodorkovsky, former Yukos CEO and a major opposition financier. The committee positions itself as a movement uniting Russians opposed to Putin’s war and authoritarian rule. Members include Sergey Aleksashenko, Dmitry Gudkov, Sergei Guriev, Garry Kasparov, Ivan Tyutrin, Vladimir Kara-Murza (who resigned on December 12th), Evgeny Chichvarkin, and Anastasia Shevchenko.

Alongside these groups is the Free Russia Foundation, led by Natalia Arno and Vladimir Kara-Murza, which focuses on supporting civil society, democratic reforms, and human rights in Russia. There are also independent opposition figures, such as Maxim Katz, who have been affiliated with various movements and initiatives over the years.

Despite overlaps in membership and declared goals, these groups are marked by deep organisational and personal divisions. Characterised fragmentation has been manifesting in accusations of collaboration with the Russian government, suspicious funding, disagreements over electoral participation, accusations and even reports of physical confrontations. Following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Navalny’s death, and the release of opposition figures through prisoner exchanges, these divisions hardened into open conflict. Several sessions of opposition forces abroad have seen factional rivalries and disagreement on legitimacy. The creation of the PACE “platform for dialogue” further intensified tensions.

On October 1st, PACE requested lists of opposition figures from which it would select 12 participants for the platform. One of the central criteria for participation was the signing of the Berlin Declaration, initiated by the Anti-War Committee of Russia. The declaration states that Russia’s war against Ukraine is criminal and must end with the full withdrawal of Russian troops, the restoration of internationally-recognised borders, accountability for crimes committed, compensation, justice for victims, and recognition of Putin’s regime as illegitimate.

Both the FBK and the Free Russia Foundation refused to sign the declaration. The FBK argued that investing resources in unified structures is ineffective and that individual initiatives are more efficient in opposing Putin’s regime. It also described the declaration as “Khodorkovsky’s instrument of manipulation,” reflecting long-standing and deeply personal conflict between these actors. Such antagonisms further deepen mistrust and discourage even the limited number of opposition-minded Russians – inside and outside the country – from associating themselves with a movement widely perceived as toxic and internally dishonest.

These divisions became publicly visible on December 11th during a dinner organised by Khodorkovsky in Paris, attended by Russian opposition figures and members of the PACE leadership. A confrontation between Kasparov and Kara-Murza illustrated the depth of internal discord. The dispute centred on several issues, most notably Kara-Murza’s refusal to sign the Berlin Declaration. Kasparov treated the declaration as a mandatory “litmus test” for inclusion in the PACE platform, while Kara-Murza stated that requiring veteran activists, who had already endured imprisonment, to sign was insulting. Additional accusations concerned alleged behind-the-scenes manoeuvring to include FBK group members in PACE, funding sources, and questions of political legitimacy related to foreign citizenship. Attempts to delay the formation of the PACE platform were rejected by the PACE president, who insisted the process proceed on schedule – January 26th 2026.

The delusion of values

One of the core conditions for participants of the Russian democratic forces engaged by western institutions is unconditional recognition and respect for Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity, acknowledgment of Russia’s crimes in Ukraine, support for the creation of a Special Tribunal for the Crime of Aggression against Ukraine, and endorsement of compensation mechanisms for victims. Ukraine is therefore positioned as a central normative pillar of these initiatives. However, the Russian opposition, directly or indirectly, fails to meet these criteria, pointing to a broader European delusion in expecting Russian opposition figures to uphold consistent, principled values regarding Ukraine.

At best, much of the Russian opposition does not really recognise the criminal nature of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the Ukrainian people’s struggle, or their own moral and political responsibility. The earlier-mentioned statement by Kara-Murza, describing Russians and Ukrainians as “one nation” with shared history and language, is not an isolated example. Since his release from prison, a significant portion of Kara-Murza’s public activity has focused on advocating for lifting sanctions from “ordinary Russians,” prioritising the domestic Russian narrative over Ukrainian suffering.

Yulia Navalnaya became widely known in western media as the fearless wife of Alexei Navalny and a prominent opposition figure. However, she is also known for her controversial statements. She opposes sanctions on ordinary Russians and pushes the idea that there should be a sharp distinction between Russian society and the regime. During discussions surrounding a potential Trump-Putin meeting, she announced that a peace agreement was less important than prisoner exchanges and freeing Russian political prisoners. She also claimed that western weapons deliveries to Ukraine kill Russians as well, reflecting the equal struggle of “ordinary Russian” narrative frequently expressed by the FBK she represents.

Ilya Yashin, shortly after being released in a 2024 prisoner swap, prioritized ending the “bloody deadlock” through peace negotiations. He argues that Putin is solely responsible for the war and presents Russian society as a victim of the regime. Alongside ending the war in Ukraine, he emphasizes shifting sanctions away from ordinary Russians and focusing them on Putin’s inner circle.

Leonid Volkov, another FBK member, in autumn 2022 wrote a personal letter to Josep Borrell, then EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs, requesting the removal of assets belonging to oligarch Mikhail Fridman, co-owner of Alfa Group, and three business partners from the EU sanctions list. After this scandal, he still is one of the leaders of the FBK. Recently Volkov expressed views hostile to Ukraine, and wished imprisonment of key senior Ukrainian officials, including and opposed cooperation with Ukraine’s intelligence services. He is also accused of punishing pro-Ukraine positions inside FBK.

In November 2024, Navalnaya, Kara-Murza, and Yashin led a major anti-war demonstration in Berlin titled “No to War, No to Putin.” The march framed Russians primarily as victims of the regime rather than participants in aggression. Controversy erupted when a participant carried a Russian tricolour flag, widely perceived as offensive due to its association with the ongoing war. Critics viewed the demonstration less as honest support for Ukraine and more as a self-centred political activity: organisers demanded troop withdrawal but did not call for more weapons to be sent to Ukraine.

Independent figures like Maxim Katz reject collective responsibility too. He argues that the Russian opposition has “no obligation to do anything for anybody, especially Ukrainians,” and prioritises changing the regime for the benefit of Russians. He recognises Crimea as part of Russia despite admitting the 2014 referendum was rigged. On the 16th day of the invasion, he claimed the Russian military had no intention of destroying cities and that civilian damage was a “mistake”. Katz frames a sharp moral division between those who “gave orders” and “innocent Russians” who failed to oppose the regime.

This pattern extends beyond politicians. Ekaterina Shulman, a famous “political commentator” suggested collective responsibility is a “fascist concept” that triggers genocide. She called Russian soldiers in Ukraine “veterans of the armed conflict,” referred to Ukraine as a “failed state,” Crimea as a “grey area” and argued Russian regions cannot survive without the imperial centre. Writers and public intellectuals echo similar narratives. Boris Akunin compared Ukrainian war suffering in Mariupol to mental suffering of Russians and suggested Crimea was “accidentally” given to Ukraine, repeating Navalny and kremlin propaganda.

From independent politicians to opposition leaders, from writers to political scientists and journalists, these value inconsistencies reveal deeply rooted imperial and paternalistic attitudes. Rather than presenting a moral alternative to Putin, the opposition reproduces key assumptions of the regime: denial of Ukrainian agency, refusal of collective responsibility, and the prioritisation of Russian suffering.

A necessary recalibration

While the West fails to consider political reality, Russian opposition forces consistently fail to meet western expectations. They have no authority inside Russia, they do not represent Russian society, and they do not even fully speak for Russian émigrés. Russians who oppose the regime domestically largely view them negatively. In addition, the opposition is deeply divided, with long-standing personal conflicts and organisational rivalries, both historical and ongoing, making any meaningful unity impossible. These divisions reflect not only power struggles but also fundamental differences in values and priorities.

The core value problem, however, lies in three issues: the perception of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, collective responsibility, and imperial attitudes. These are deeply rooted in the opposition’s thinking and bring them uncomfortably close to Putin’s own view of foreign policy and regional order. Most opposition actors either downplay or deny Ukraine’s agency, refuse to accept Russian society’s collective responsibility for aggression, and maintain hierarchical, imperial assumptions about Russia’s right to define its neighbourhood. This places them far from the values and goals western institutions claim to defend, making it impossible to consider them a genuine alternative to the Putin regime.

PACE must recognise and rethink the reality it faces. Russian representatives do not mirror the Estonian or Polish opposition in exile of the 20th century. Russia is not an occupied state seeking liberation; it is the aggressor, currently waging war on a neighbouring country. Treating Russian opposition figures as representatives of a democratic future, without demanding a genuine break from imperial thinking, risks misreading the conflict and misplacing political responsibility at a moment when clarity is essential.

The same logic applies to western media and educational institutions. They have played a key role in amplifying the public image of these opposition figures, often without sufficiently scrutinising their positions on Ukraine, collective responsibility, and imperial legacies. Ukrainian journalists, analysts, and civil society actors have done a remarkable job exposing these contradictions, but their work has not received adequate attention in Western discourse. Ignoring these assessments risks reproducing the blind spots that have contributed to repeated miscalculations in policy towards Russia.

Engagement with the Russian opposition therefore requires a far more rigorous assessment of political reality, values, and legitimacy. Without such recalibration, initiatives like the PACE platform risk legitimising actors whose positions are fundamentally misaligned with the principles of democracy, justice, and Ukrainian sovereignty they are meant to uphold.

Beka Iromashvili is a final year MA student within the Central and Eastern European, Russian, and Eurasian Studies (CEERES) programme jointly run by the University of Tartu, the University of Glasgow, and the Jagiellonian University. He is also an editorial intern with New Eastern Europe.

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Russia, Russia-West relations, Russian opposition