On a Monday in November, the journalists of Novaya Gazeta gathered for the last time, closing a chapter that had run for more than three decades alongside an increasingly constrained Russia. The paper's end was not a single blow but a long erosion, from blocked pages and stripped licenses to a landlord and a bank that, one after another, stopped standing beside it. It is a reminder that independent witness rarely dies in one dramatic stroke; more often it is worn away until the cost of remaining becomes simply too high.
Novaya Gazeta, Russia's Most Fearless Independent Paper, Closes After Three Decades of Pressure
Six of the paper's journalists have been killed, editor Dmitri Muratov survived a train attack requiring four eye operations, and a journalist was detained and put on trial.
Her reading glasses were still on her desk.
Mark
Why did it take so long for the paper to close, given the pressure?
Mimi
Hopkins calls it a miracle they lasted. The squeeze was gradual: website blocked, license lost, presses nationalized, a raid, a trial, the foreign agent label.
Luke
And the final blow wasn't a decree, right?
Mimi
Correct. The landlord wouldn't renew after 20 years, and banks stopped processing reader donations.
Mark
Was that the state's doing?
Luke
That's the careful part. Hopkins says it's either direct pressure or banks sensing trouble. The reporting doesn't show which, so we shouldn't claim an order was given.
Mark
How did they keep publishing under the war censorship?
Mimi
They stayed within the law, skipping front-line reporting, and said openly why. They printed the word "war" on front pages but blurred it.
Luke
Worth noting that the claim that Muratov's Nobel offered some protection is Hopkins's assessment, not something confirmed.
Mark
What's lost beyond the paper itself?
Mimi
Reporting from places like Oleshky in occupied Ukraine, and Politkovskaya's preserved office, now going into storage.
Luke
And what happens to the staff is still unknown. Hopkins says they're figuring it out.
Le Pouls
- The last editorial meeting ended a three-decade run, with one final issue still due in the coming weeks.
- Authorities blocked the website, revoked the license, nationalized the presses, and branded the paper a foreign agent.
- A lost lease after twenty years and a bank that stopped processing reader donations left the paper with no way to pay its way.
- Six journalists have been killed and the editor survived an attack that required four eye operations, while reporting from occupied Ukraine has no successor in sight.
On a Monday in November, the journalists of Novaya Gazeta gathered for the last time, closing a chapter that had run for more than three decades alongside an increasingly constrained Russia. The paper's end was not a single blow but a long erosion, from blocked pages and stripped licenses to a landlord and a bank that, one after another, stopped standing beside it. It is a reminder that independent witness rarely dies in one dramatic stroke; more often it is worn away until the cost of remaining becomes simply too high.
On Monday, the journalists of Novaya Gazeta held their last editorial meeting. One final issue will appear in the coming weeks, and then a paper that spent more than thirty years covering the Putin era will be gone. The New York Times correspondent Valerie Hopkins was in the newsroom as staff packed up their desks.
The paper once carried a near-legendary weight in Russia. It was where Anna Politkovskaya wrote her unsparing accounts of abuses, propaganda and corruption, and she was shot dead in her apartment building elevator in 2006. Two decades later, the war has returned and the paper that employed her has closed.
Hopkins describes a slow dismantling. The website was blocked, the media license revoked, the printing presses nationalized by decree, and the newsroom raided this spring, with one journalist detained and tried. The paper was also labeled a foreign agent. What finally ended it was more ordinary: the landlord would not renew the lease after twenty years, and the bank stopped handling the reader donations that were its only income. Every other bank the staff approached refused them.
The price of staying was steep. Six journalists have been killed, and editor Dmitri Muratov was attacked on a train shortly after the invasion of Ukraine, needing four operations to see again. Many antiwar journalists fled Russia, but Novaya Gazeta's staff stayed among their readers.
The final meeting held grief and resolve together. Politkovskaya's office, kept almost untouched, with her tape recorder, letters and reading glasses, is going into storage. For years the paper had survived through careful choices: it obeyed the law by not reporting from the front, but openly said that silence came from censorship, and it used the word "war" on its pages even when it was blurred. Muratov's Nobel and the paper's ties to Gorbachev offered some cover, but as the war goes on, that protection has limits.
Other independent voices remain, mostly on Telegram, but none with the same authority. Only months ago, Novaya Gazeta's reporters were still reaching occupied Oleshky, where people were starving, to write about it. Hopkins says nobody else is doing that work now. The journalists do not plan to leave Russia, and some may try to start something new, though they are still deciding what comes next.
On Monday, the journalists of Novaya Gazeta held their last editorial meeting. One final issue will come out in the coming weeks, and then the paper, which spent more than three decades covering an increasingly repressive state under Vladimir Putin, will be gone. Valerie Hopkins, a New York Times correspondent, was in the newsroom as staff packed up their offices.
The paper had a near-legendary standing in Russia. It was the home of Anna Politkovskaya, whose books in the early 2000s gave an unsparing account of human rights abuses, wartime propaganda and corruption under Putin. In 2006, on Putin's birthday, she was shot and killed in the elevator of her apartment building. Twenty years later, Russia is again at war, and the paper that employed her has closed.
Hopkins describes the end as a slow dismantling rather than a sudden blow. First the website was blocked, so readers needed a VPN to reach it. Then the paper lost its media license. Putin signed a decree nationalizing its printing presses. This spring, authorities raided the newsroom, and one of its journalists was detained and put on trial. The paper was also added to the list of so-called foreign agents, a Stalin-era term that carries many restrictions on what a designated person or organization may do.
What finally forced the closure was more mundane. The landlord declined to renew the lease after 20 years. And the bank stopped processing the reader donations that were the paper's only remaining source of revenue. Staff approached other banks and were turned down by all of them, which Hopkins attributes either to direct pressure from authorities or to a sense that working with the paper would bring trouble. The paper concluded it could not continue.
The cost of staying had been high. Six of its journalists have been killed. Shortly after the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, editor Dmitri Muratov was attacked on a train, and the injuries were severe enough that he needed four operations to use his eyes again. Hopkins notes that, while many antiwar Russian journalists left the country, Novaya Gazeta's staff stayed and lived in their readers' reality.
The final meeting mixed grief with resolve. A columnist, an Orthodox priest who was stripped of his congregation for his antiwar stance, had written that despondency is a sin, and the line came up in the discussion. Politkovskaya's office had been kept nearly as it was when she died: her tape recorder, some letters, an old computer, her reading glasses on the desk, and on the wall some of her best stories alongside her colleagues' investigation into her killing. Young journalists came there for inspiration. All of it is going into storage.
Hopkins says the paper survived as long as it did by being strategic. It followed Russian law, which meant not reporting from the front line in Ukraine, since rules make it illegal to cite sources other than the Ministry of Defense. But it said openly that the omission was due to censorship. On its front pages it used the word "war" rather than the state-approved "special military operation," and deliberately blurred it out. Muratov's Nobel Peace Prize in 2021 may have offered some protection, as did the paper's origins: it was founded with money from Mikhail Gorbachev's Nobel Peace Prize, and Muratov was close to Gorbachev and knows prominent decision makers, including in Putin's government. As the war continues, Hopkins says, that goes only so far.
Some independent outlets remain, mostly on Telegram, but none with comparable authority. As recently as a few months ago, Novaya Gazeta's reporters were going into occupied Ukraine, to Oleshky, a Russian-controlled city where people were starving, and writing about it. Hopkins says no one else is doing that kind of work. The journalists themselves do not seem to plan to emigrate, and some may eventually try to start something new, though she says they are still working out what comes next.
Citations marquantes
The real miracle is that they lasted this long.— Valerie Hopkins, New York Times correspondent
Despondency is a sin.— Novaya Gazeta columnist and Orthodox priest, as discussed at the final editorial meeting
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