"And now may I present the man who by the end of this year will be a star in Russian law," a wiry young man shouted into a microphone as someone only slightly older but dressed in a grey suit emerged from the rowdy crowd at a protest movement fundraiser in a Moscow club on Monday night.
The crowd broke into applause: the man now standing in front of them, the balding, bearded and bespectacled Nikolai Polozov, is one of the attorneys representing Pussy Riot, three young women facing jail for having staged what they termed "a punk prayer service" in Moscow's main cathedral. Their prayer went: "Mother of God, get rid of Putin."
"They were the first political prisoners of the protest movement," said Polozov, to more applause. This is true: the women, arrested soon after their performance in March, were the first people to face criminal charges – and up to seven years behind bars if convicted – since the current protest movement began last December.
More than a dozen activists have been arrested since then, and on Tuesday news came that the prominent anti-corruption blogger Alexei Navalny had been charged. But Pussy Riot remains Russia's most important political trial: as unlikely as this may seem at first glance, this is the case that may determine Russia's future.
In some ways, the women of Pussy Riot are Putin's ideal enemies. He has portrayed the protest movement as a bunch of interlopers, inspired by foreign values and funded by hostile countries (such as the US). By staging their loud, colourful, explosive protest in a church – and not just any church, but the gaudy cathedral favoured by Moscow's officialdom – members of Pussy Riot showed just how different they are from most Russians.
The women themselves have acknowledged as much: speaking on the first day of the trial, Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, the informal leader of the group, apologised to anyone the protest may have offended for what she termed "an ethical mistake" while denying they are guilty of any crime.
But the point of the trial is not to establish guilt or innocence, or even to elicit an apology or an admission from the accused. The point is to show that the women are "other". Which is why the judge asked one of the witnesses whether the accused "crossed themselves in the manner that all citizens do".
"People should cross themselves with piety, without a hurry," the witness testified. "She crossed herself kind of rapidly. It was not the sign of the cross with which Orthodox Christians should bless themselves."
But if Pussy Riot are Putin's perfect enemies, they are, in some ways, also the protest movement's perfect activists. This is not to say all Russians who oppose Putin support Pussy Riot: their shock tactics proved too much for some opposition commentators, who have assumed a condescending attitude toward them, saying (literally) they should be spanked but not jailed.
But the three women do personify the essence of the protests: they have no articulated political agenda, they offer no detailed critique of the regime; they are just very loud and very expressive about wanting an end to the stifling rule of Putin and his cronies. They have been in jail for five months and face years more for this: being loud, irreverent, and very, very clear about what they want.
Three women may spend seven years of their lives in Russian jails for staging a peaceful protest, and this is certainly enough for the thinking people of the world to take notice and rise to their defence. But the Pussy Riot trial is more than that: it is Russia choosing what path it should take. Is it going to be a country where every citizen crosses herself precisely as directed? Or will it be a country where people can speak – and sing – their minds, even when and where others may find it offensive?
If I believed in God, I'd certainly pray for the latter.
