Chapter 3: the storms
Waves come in different kinds. Some rise with wind. Others with tectonic shifts. And some are caused by ships that sail too fast and too close to shore. They may not be called disasters, yet they destroy everything along the coast.
After the first public confessions in Russia’s #MeToo, the main blow came not from alleged abusers but from the reaction. Women who spoke up faced harassment — in comments, on social media, even in their own workplaces. Instead of focusing on what happened, society interrogated their behavior:
why she stayed silent
why she went there
why now
Stories were ripped out of context. The reputations of victims suddenly mattered more than the violence itself. Everyone demanded proof — even though harassment, rooted in power imbalance, closed spaces, and the absence of witnesses, is precisely the crime hardest to “prove.” In media environments, investigations are often replaced by scandal.
Among the accused were: Sberbank project manager Sergey Minenko, TV Rain host Pavel Lobkov, Sberbank SMM manager Ruslan Gafarov, publisher Yegor Mostovshchikov, writer Viktor Shenderovich, and others.
Another wave followed — threats and pressure. Women were promised lawsuits, public shaming, pressure from employers. Some lost their jobs. Some left their professions. Ahead of March 8, State Duma Speaker Vyacheslav Volodin commented on the accusations against Slutsky:
“If it’s dangerous for you to work here — find another job.”
Slutsky remains in office.
In a country where sexual harassment is not legally defined, publicity remains the only protection — and simultaneously the greatest vulnerability.
In 2022 another powerful wave hit Russian media spaces — unlike the “Slutsky-gate,” this one led to dismissals, public apologies, and even internal anti-harassment regulations in some newsrooms.
Some lights went out.
Some still flicker.
Some have shrunk to phone flashlights.
These are women who are still trying to speak.
