I knew I worked at the best newspaper on earth”

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“I knew I worked at the best newspaper on earth”

On October 30, Novaya Gazeta, an independent media outlet that had continued to operate in Russia throughout this time, announced its closure. Throughout its 30 years of operation, Novaya was under immense pressure: the newsroom was systematically threatened, its journalists were attacked, and six of its staff members were murdered.

For the past five years, the newspaper operated “completely surrounded by the security services.” During that time, the publication’s websites were blocked, the newspaper was stripped of its media license, and its editor-in-chief, Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov, was attacked and declared a “foreign agent.”

In September 2026, Novaya itself was designated a “foreign agent,” and in October a decision was made to evict it from its office in central Moscow and its ability to collect donations was cut off.

You can read the full statement from Novaya Gazeta’s editors here.

On the day the publication closes, we are publishing an excerpt from Elena Kostyuchenko’s book “My Beloved Country” (which includes reports the journalist wrote for Novaya) about working at “the best newspaper on earth.”

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Outside, fascism was advancing. We described it as best we could. Our newspaper came out three times a week across the entire country, and the website was updated around the clock. We did our jobs well; we tried very hard. Outside, things were frightening, sickening, and sorrowful. Here, it was warm.

I knew I worked at the best newspaper on earth. More and more often, journalists spoke about censorship at their outlets and stories that had been pulled. Their publications were closing, one after another; there were fewer and fewer places to work.

Novaya lived on. We were not easy to shut down. We ourselves owned the controlling stake in our publication and elected our own editor-in-chief, editorial board members, and editorial council members. Elections were held every two years. There were election platforms and debates, ballots were printed, and a vote-counting commission was elected. Outside, there were no more elections, but we still had them. We thought that was funny.

We managed to keep working for 32 days after the war began. Then Novaya received two warnings from the censorship agency; the next step would be the loss of its media license. Without a license, we could not operate. The staff voted to suspend publication and save the newspaper that way. I did not vote. I was at the war.

They took away the license anyway, five months later. Novaya Gazeta went to court. Novaya Gazeta lost every case.

Novaya Gazeta no longer exists.

Now that we are gone. Now that there are no editorial meetings, no briefings, no fucking sign-offs on issues, no running around reporting, no swearing, tears, small victories, or enormous, terrifying events that must be fitted into stories. Now that everything I feared has happened and I am empty, with nothing left to hold on to, I can think.

Novaya Gazeta’s motto was: we have the same letters, but different words.

How much does a word weigh?

(sometimes as much as an entire living life)

Can a word stand up to armed tyranny?

(no)

Can a word stop a war?

(no)

Can a word save a country?

(no)

Can a word save the person who speaks it?

It saved me.

But only me.

✽ ✽ ✽

You can buy Elena Kostyuchenko’s book “My Beloved Country” at this link.