completely reckless and stubborn—the kind of guy he was
In a small Polish border town, a Russian artist who spent years drawing the powerful as monsters was shot five times in a parking lot near a Belarusian consulate. Robert Kuzovkov, 44, had fled Russia in 2021 but never fled the work that made him a target — his caricatures of Putin, Lukashenko, and Kadyrov circulated openly, his face and address known to anyone who cared to look. Two Belarusian nationals have been detained, and the investigation continues, but the deeper question the killing poses is one that history has asked before: what happens to a society when those who mock power are silenced, one by one, far from home.
- A man who refused to disappear was shot five times in broad daylight — twice as he stood, three more times after he fell.
- The killing carries the geometry of a targeted operation: a consulate nearby, Belarusian nationals detained at the scene, a victim whose art had mocked the very leaders with motive to silence him.
- Friends had warned Kuzovkov repeatedly that his visibility — his public protests, his Telegram posts, his known address — would eventually be used against him, but he would not be deterred.
- Polish prosecutors in Lublin are investigating, a post mortem is underway, and the two detained men's precise roles remain unconfirmed, leaving the chain of responsibility unresolved.
- His wife and five children remain in Poland as the case forces a reckoning with whether Russian and Belarusian dissidents in Europe can ever truly be safe.
Robert Kuzovkov — known online as Semyon Skrepetsky — was shot dead Monday morning in a parking lot in Biała Podlaska, a small town in eastern Poland roughly 40 kilometers from the Belarusian border. He was 44. The gunman fired twice, and when Kuzovkov fell, fired three more shots into his head, chest, and back. Five shell casings and a single 9mm bullet were recovered near the Belarusian consulate where the attack occurred.
Kuzovkov had built a following across Telegram and YouTube for his unsparing caricatures — Putin entwined with Stalin, Lukashenko rendered as Hitler, Kadyrov and his son given pigs' snouts. He had fled Russia in 2021 fearing criminal prosecution, but he never went quiet. Days before his death, he was filmed at a Russia Day protest outside the Russian embassy in Berlin, carrying a painting of Putin and Stalin, a Russian flag trailing behind him on the pavement.
Friends had urged him for years to lower his profile. Bulat Subkhankulov told the BBC he had repeated the same warning over and over — that they would come for him, that he needed to stay alert — before eventually giving up. Kuzovkov, he said, was simply not the kind of man who could be persuaded to stop.
Polish prosecutors have detained two Belarusian citizens, aged 33 and 37, near the consulate, though their exact role in the killing has not been established. A post mortem was scheduled for Wednesday. The proximity of the attack to the consulate, the nationality of those detained, and the identity of the victim have all drawn attention to the possibility of state involvement — though nothing has been confirmed.
Kuzovkov is survived by his wife and five children. The investigation is ongoing, and the questions it opens reach well beyond one parking lot: whether this was an isolated act, or the latest in a long pattern of critics removed from the world while those who may have ordered it remain untouched.
A 44-year-old Russian artist was shot dead in a parking lot in eastern Poland on Monday morning, his body found in a town of fewer than 60,000 people, roughly 40 kilometers from the Belarusian border. Robert Kuzovkov, who worked under the pseudonym Semyon Skrepetsky, had built a reputation across social media for his savage caricatures of political figures—Vladimir Putin locked in an embrace with Joseph Stalin, Alexander Lukashenko rendered as Adolf Hitler clutching a bucket of potatoes, Ramzan Kadyrov and his son with pigs' snouts. The gunman approached him in the car park near the Belarusian consulate, fired twice, and when Kuzovkov fell, fired three more shots into his head, chest, and back before disappearing. Five shell casings and a single 9mm bullet were left behind.
Kuzovkov had fled Russia five years earlier, in 2021, seeking asylum in Biała Podlaska after fearing criminal prosecution at home. He was not hiding. His work circulated freely on Telegram and YouTube. His address was publicly known. Just days before his death, video footage showed him at a Russia Day protest outside the Russian embassy in Berlin, carrying a painting of Putin and Stalin, a Russian flag tied to his trousers dragging behind him on the pavement. He had become, in the words of a friend, completely reckless and stubborn—the kind of man who ignored repeated warnings that his visibility, his refusal to stay quiet, would eventually catch up with him.
Polish prosecutors have detained two Belarusian citizens, aged 33 and 37, near the consulate, though their precise role in the killing remains under investigation. The prosecutor's office in Lublin has not yet determined whether they were directly involved or present in some other capacity. A post mortem examination was scheduled for Wednesday. The killing sits in a space of profound ambiguity—the proximity to the Belarusian consulate, the involvement of Belarusian nationals, the targeting of a man whose art had mocked not just Putin but also Lukashenko and Kadyrov, all of it suggestive of something larger, though nothing has been proven.
Bulat Subkhankulov, who knew Kuzovkov well, told the BBC he had warned his friend repeatedly. "I kept telling him: 'Mate, they're going to come for you, they're going to come for you, they're going to come for you. Please be prepared, always stay alert," he said. But Subkhankulov had eventually given up. There was no point. Kuzovkov was the kind of person who would not be deterred, who believed his art mattered more than his safety, who continued to mock the powerful even as the risks accumulated around him.
Another artist, Vladislav Bokhan from Belarus, learned of the shooting from Polish radio and immediately understood the stakes. "I thought, that's where Skrepetsky lives. I know it's a very small town," he said. In a small town, a man with a public presence, a man whose face and work are known, a man who refuses to disappear—such a man becomes visible in a way that matters. Kuzovkov is survived by his wife and five children in Poland. The investigation continues, but the questions it raises extend far beyond the parking lot in Biała Podlaska: whether this was an isolated act of violence or part of a pattern, whether the state was involved or merely benefited from the silence that follows when a critic is removed.
Citações Notáveis
I kept telling him: 'Mate, they're going to come for you, they're going to come for you, they're going to come for you. Please be prepared, always stay alert.'— Bulat Subkhankulov, friend of Kuzovkov, to the BBC
I kept telling him that it could end badly... Eventually I realised there was no point. That's just the kind of guy he was: completely reckless and stubborn.— Bulat Subkhankulov
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did he stay so visible? He knew the risks.
Because that was the point. His art was his argument. Going silent would have meant accepting that they had won—that fear could do what prosecution couldn't.
But his friends warned him. Repeatedly.
Yes. And he listened, I think. He just didn't change. There's a difference between understanding danger and being willing to live with it.
The two Belarusian citizens—do we know if they were shooters or something else?
Not yet. That's what makes this moment so uncertain. The proximity to the consulate, the nationality of the detainees, the targets of his art—it all points somewhere, but nothing is confirmed.
What does his work actually look like?
Brutal. Unflinching. He didn't caricature just Putin—he went after Lukashenko, Kadyrov, even Navalny. He was an equal-opportunity satirist, which meant he had made enemies across a wide spectrum.
And his family is still in Poland?
His wife and five children. They're living in the same small town where he was killed. That's the weight of it—they're not abstract survivors. They're real people in a real place, now grieving in the town where it happened.