Anastasia Yershova never thought a simple pair of earrings could land her in jail. But in Russia today, wearing “the wrong” jewelry can make you a criminal. Meanwhile, actual criminals—murderers and rapists—are being set free to fight in Ukraine.
No, this isn’t a joke. This is the reality of modern Russia. Stick around, and I’ll explain how Anastasia was accused and jailed for displaying extremist symbols—not a swastika, not anything violent—just earrings that looked like this.
One of the harshest consequences of the war between Russia and Ukraine is the complete distortion of values and moral standards. Killing a neighbor is considered a noble exploit; war becomes a path to peace; ignorance is presented as knowledge, and wearing anything with a rainbow becomes a crime.
Today, we’re diving into how the dystopia Orwell described in 1984 is becoming real.
What Officials Are Afraid Of
To understand the root causes of Russia’s moral decay, it’s crucial to recognize that it’s driven by fear, the concentration of power in the hands of a few, and inequality before the law.
In one of my previous videos, I discussed how Russian society mirrors a feudal system. What’s allowed to the aristocrats and their vassals is strictly forbidden to those lower down the social ladder.
Climbing the social ladder is nearly impossible—almost as difficult as a medieval French peasant becoming a marquis. But falling to the bottom? That’s all too easy.
I know a deputy minister who used to manage large budgets. Let’s call him Sergey. Sergey had a fallout with his boss, and it didn’t just cost him his job. For years, he’s struggled to find decent work because no one wants to deal with the state. All the projects he had successfully implemented while in office were shut down. To make matters worse, his leadership actively worked to dismantle Sergey’s network of connections.
While Sergey was a deputy minister, he worked hard to expand his influence, becoming a benefactor to those who could help him later. He supported some in their business ventures, gave others government contracts, vacationed with some, and exchanged valuable information and contacts with others. Over time, the state did everything it could to sever Sergey’s ties with his former associates. Those he helped were audited by the tax authorities, and those who built businesses with his assistance were given an ultimatum: “Either sell your business at a bargain price to someone we choose, or face serious consequences.”
There’s an old Russian word, opala, which means falling out of favor with the ruler. In pre-revolutionary Russia, if you fell into opala, your life was essentially over. You couldn’t build anything alternative because, in authoritarian societies, the state is the source of all power—ultimately controlled by the supreme ruler and his closest allies.
The same thing is happening today: once you fall out of favor, returning to the fold is nearly impossible. You can either emigrate and start over, or stay silent and hope you’re forgotten. This is unbearable for ambitious people whose lives are defined by victories and accomplishments.
This dynamic plays out at all levels: a deputy minister can be crushed by the presidential administration, and a local councilor can be destroyed by a mayor or prosecutor.
Seeds of Fear
The fear of losing everything you’ve built over a lifetime is incredibly powerful in Russia.
First, fear leads to self-censorship. Publishers, afraid of angering the authorities, stop printing authors who dare criticize the current regime. No one gives them a direct order; instead, they calculate what might displease their superiors and adjust to what they believe are the authorities’ real or imagined desires.
Take my books, for example. They would never be published because I dare to tell you what I really think. This is the type of literature that is currently banned in Russia.
The same thing happens in education. If a university rector hears that a professor speaks negatively about the war in Ukraine, that professor could easily be fired. No hard feelings—it’s just that the rector wants to keep his job, so he adapts to what he assumes the higher-ups want. After all, they wouldn’t like the professor’s speech, would they? So, better to play it safe.
Second, fear drives people to carry out actions they might consider unjust, immoral, or even criminal. But they do it anyway, because not complying could lead to their own ruin.
Take the trial of Alexei Navalny. The judges who sentenced him weren’t idiots. They knew exactly what they were doing—they were professional lawyers, skilled in handling legal documents, and fully aware of what constitutes evidence. But they had a choice: either continue being judges and prosecutors, rising through the ranks, or risk being destroyed by the state.
When Darkness Becomes Light
The fear that drives Russian bureaucrats to make unjust decisions is not cowardice. They see their actions as a responsibility to their families and vassals. “Yes, I am willing to take the blame, but my people will be safe and have the best opportunities in life.”
This mentality creates the perfect environment for all kinds of scoundrels. They act in their own self-interest, but pretend to serve Russia, while others go along with them because “it’s the will of the higher-ups.”
Anthropologist Sasha Arkhipova uncovered a fascinating story about a person who wrote dozens of denunciations against university professors and public speakers who opposed the war. This person went by the name Anna Korobkova and became notorious as a serial informer who dictated the fates of opposition figures. Anna even gave written interviews in which she passionately declared that she was helping the state fight its enemies.
The academic community helped Sasha Arkhipova gather other texts written by the informer, and she identified specific phrases that Korobkova used. Then something amusing happened: Korobkova’s own vanity brought her down. A huge Wikipedia article about her appeared, and it was obvious that Korobkova had written it herself—because it contained characteristic phrases she had used. Moreover, she had posted photos that only she could have taken, and the metadata of these photos gave her away. Sasha Arkhipova traced who had uploaded the photos to Wikipedia with this metadata and discovered that Anna Korobkova was actually a journalist from Yekaterinburg named Ivan Abaturov. This vain young man had dreamed of becoming a university professor, but when that didn’t work out, he resorted to sabotaging more successful people.
The most crucial thing is that his denunciations actually produced results. People were fired and fined. Ivan Abaturov, who held no real power, could ruin others’ lives simply because his actions were seen as “pleasing the higher-ups.” In any other situation, a denunciation is considered a low act, and the envious informer is seen as a vile person. But in modern Russia, darkness can be officially proclaimed as light.
The Art of Guessing
The concept of what might please or displease the authorities is something that lives and evolves on its own. The feudal system doesn’t imply direct communication between the upper echelons and the lower ranks, so each official must guess what the powers-that-be are currently pleased with. This, rather than direct orders from Putin, gives rise to widespread beliefs and notions about what is “good” and what is “bad.” It’s a closed system that feeds itself: TV executives carefully track what the top leader likes, and they craft the narrative accordingly. The public watches TV and picks up the signal: “Looks like the policy is shifting this way today. Got it—let’s go with the flow.” Meanwhile, Putin watches his own television and forms his worldview based on what he sees and hears there.
Take the situation with the LGBT community as an example. Russia has serious demographic problems—its population is shrinking (partly due to the war and mass emigration), and this is a concern for the national leader. Likely, in private conversations, he expressed the need to support traditional values, and his allies eagerly picked up this narrative. See my video about how Russia is trying to project itself as a country of conservative values.
First, state-run media began pushing the narrative that everything related to LGBT is bad and dangerous. Then, things escalated to the point where the LGBT community was declared an “extremist organization,” and its activities were banned in Russia, even though no such organization under the name LGBT actually exists.
“Gay propaganda” was banned, meaning any mention that this phenomenon exists and concerns millions of Russian citizens. These people are now legally classified as second-class citizens, if not third-class, and this has been formalized legislatively.
In my hometown of Nizhny Novgorod, a young woman named Anastasia Ershova was arrested for five days because she wore rainbow-colored frog earrings. She was sitting in a café when some “vigilant citizen” started filming her on his phone. Probably, this was another activist, like Ivan Abaturov—a failure who claims power over others simply because his actions might please those in charge. It doesn’t matter whether the big boss finds out about the informant’s humble deed; if he does, he will likely praise them, not punish them.
The video was posted on social media, and the young woman was identified. She was later summoned to the police for questioning. The court sentenced her to five days in jail. The case sparked some public outcry, but nothing changed. Vitaly Milonov, Deputy Chairman of the State Duma Committee for Family Protection, commented on the situation: “If these earrings were a visual demonstration of LGBT pride, so what? What if they were swastika earrings—would they still be innocent decorations?”
Do the deputies, police officers, and judges think that frog earrings in rainbow colors are dangerous? No. They’re simply protecting themselves, their positions, their families, and their clans. And they are showing those on the lower rungs of the social pyramid that they can be punished for anything, at any time, for any reason.
What’s truly sad and absurd is that some of the highest-ranking officials in Russia are gay. They work in the very structures that draft anti-gay legislation and shape the country’s political narratives. I can’t name names, as I have no evidence of who’s doing what. But I knew some of these people in my youth, before they held any powerful positions, and even then, rumors about them circulated. I doubt they’ve suddenly changed their sexual orientation, especially considering they still work together, helping each other climb the career ladder.
Do they worry about their safety? No. They’ve long become part of the Russian Federation’s upper aristocracy, and laws don’t apply to the aristocracy. What concerns them is one thing: the favor of the supreme leader.
Moral Corruption
In a country where the law isn’t defined by legal documents but by the hypothetical desires of those in power, society becomes profoundly corrupted. Those at the lower levels of the social hierarchy see this as an opportunity to climb the ranks or protect themselves from potential danger. Sometimes, this takes on disturbingly ugly forms.
Nikita was gay, but he had always dreamed of having a child. He made an agreement with his lesbian friend, Katya, who also wanted to have a child. They decided to use artificial insemination to fulfill their dream. The original plan was for Nikita and Katya to live with their respective partners while raising the child as if they were divorced parents.
When Nikita’s daughter turned two, Russia began its open persecution of the LGBT community.
It’s incredibly difficult when the state is against you, and at any moment, you could face attacks, insults, job loss, or even persecution. Katya seemed to struggle with her identity after joining a religious sect that shamed her for her past and pressured her to separate from her partner, while also shielding the child from Nikita’s influence.
Katya stopped answering his calls and refused to let him into her home. This was a huge shock for Nikita, as he loved his daughter deeply. In desperation, he threatened to sue Katya for denying their child a father.
And then Katya did the unthinkable: She waited until Nikita took the girl for the weekend, making sure he would be alone with her (because his partner was away). When Nikita returned the child to her mother, Katya called the police and accused him of being a pedophile.
Katya knew full well that this was a lie—that Nikita would never harm his child. She also understood that his accusation could send him to prison for many years, yet she did it. She believed that by making this accusation, she would protect herself and her child, proving to everyone that she had nothing to do with the LGBT community.
Nikita spent three years going through investigations. The child was examined by doctors and psychologists, and of course, no evidence was found. Television journalists even stormed his house, demanding a comment. The entire ordeal was incredibly humiliating and painful.
The story ended relatively well. The charges were dropped, and Katya claimed she had “simply made a mistake.” She faced no consequences for her false accusation. Nikita could have taken his daughter away from her mother, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, knowing it would hurt the little girl’s feelings. So, he decided not to pursue any punishment against Katya.
Katya still receives money from Nikita and allows him to see the girl once a week under her supervision. Every time Nikita heads to see them, he turns on a recorder to ensure that every word he says is documented.
When we spoke, it was clear that this event had been a defining moment in his life. He kept returning to it, like someone who had survived a terrorist attack.
I asked him if he had used his position to seek justice, and he indignantly rejected the idea. But the investigators couldn’t have been unaware that Nikita held a significant position in the local government. Meanwhile, Katya was nobody—just a woman at the very bottom of the social pyramid. If the situation had been reversed, Nikita would have almost certainly ended up in prison.
