Maxim Evstropov

Maxim Evstropov is an artist, curator, and philosopher. He calls his art-practices “experimental political art” that exists somewhere between performative actions, implied grotesque narratives, Russian Dada-oriented absurdism, and grassroots politics. He is the founder of the art-political movement, the Party of the Dead (since 2017) focusing on necro-activism. He was born in 1979 in Novokuznetsk, Siberia, and now lives and works in Saint Petersburg.

Party of the Dead created by members of the art group {rodina}, who became interested in the political situation in Russia and wanted to hold political events. According to the representative of the project, the “Party of the Dead” was created as a result of reflection on the action “Immortal Regiment“, in which people participate with portraits of the dead – relatives who died during World War II. The representative sees this as “an attempt to appropriate the dead by the state and a militaristic ideology”.

“The snipers were positioned at the entrance, keeping the cemetery in their sights as if the dead might rise to take Putin.”
– Maxim Evstropov, Party of the Dead

ARC Interview with Maxim Evstropov

As I understand it, your relationship with the Russian police began even before the war, yet you didn’t leave right away; instead, you seemed to become more active. Tell us about those first months before your departure?

I left Russia in March 2022. I really didn’t want to leave, but several of my friends literally grabbed me by the arms and said, “That’s it, we have to go, we’re buying tickets.” It had already become dangerous. At that time, I had a fighting and energetic spirit. The reality was getting worse; new laws on military censorship were being adopted, but there was still a feeling that we could change everything, stop the war through our actions and efforts. I wanted to stay and fight.

However, in the last week before leaving, I didn’t sleep at home, staying at places where I could avoid detection. It was the time of “carpet searches,” as we called it, in St. Petersburg. This is when the police come for everyone on their lists.

Did you have reason to believe that you were on that list?

Yes, of course.

At that time, we had conducted several anti-war actions, and at least two of them garnered significant media attention. The first one was on February 22 at the Piskaryovskoye Memorial Cemetery. This was the day after Putin held that so-called Security Council meeting, where the members essentially begged him to recognize the independence of the LPR and DPR. That evening, he made an address, claiming he recognized that independence. It was a clear signal that the war had begun.

We went to the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery and staged a typical action for us — with skulls and posters. We chose that cemetery specifically because just before that, in late January, on the day of the lifting of the blockade in Leningrad, Putin had visited it. From our perspective, it was a deeply offensive visit because nobody was allowed into the cemetery. People stood outside in the cold, including those who had survived the blockade, while Putin, in total isolation, laid flowers under the watch of sniper guards. The snipers were positioned at the entrance, keeping the cemetery in their sights as if the dead might rise to take Putin. So, we went to that cemetery, and with our action, we somehow returned the cemetery to the dead.

Another action that also caught media attention, including from Ukrainian outlets, took place at the cemetery on March 7. This action was dedicated to military necropolitics, as we called it.

At that time, it was unclear what losses the Russian army was actually incurring. This was being carefully concealed, but some rumors began to surface. The first so-called “200 cargos” started to arrive in various cities, with fresh graves appearing. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Defense reported no losses. The footage that leaked to social media showed horrific scenes — mountains of bodies lying in the fields, abandoned. Then photos of mobile crematoria emerged, a gruesome invention of the Russian army. It seems they were not used, but the imagery was striking and horrifying. A special mechanism designed to erase the traces, making it seem like those people had never existed. This desire is very characteristic of Russian necropolitics.

We conducted a rather grim action called “Russians Don’t Bury Russians.” We went out with posters reading Z200. There was also a poster that said “The Dead Are Worth More Than the Living,” with figures of funeral compensation payments as they are known to people. At that time, the press had just officially announced that families of the deceased would receive these huge payments, which were significant for rural areas of Russia. One could earn more in death than over a lifetime. It was a grim and cynical move by our authorities, a form of bribery.

Lastly, there was a poster that said, “Mothers, your children are fakes.” At that moment, when authorities were hiding war losses, propaganda was broadcasting footage of dead Russian soldiers, claiming those images were Ukrainian fakes. There were cases where mothers recognized their children in those images while the media continued to insist that their children were alive and it was all fake. This was perhaps the loudest action we undertook, and naturally, we were in a zone of risk.

Am I correct in understanding that your pre-war actions were also noticed, and the police were already aware of you by then?

Yes, and even though we conducted anonymous actions as members of the “Party of the Dead,” my name was already known to the authorities. I had been detained three times during actions and had faced court twice.

Did you have another significant action after the war began, also at a cemetery, when during Easter you came out with a poster saying “Christ is Risen, but Russian Soldiers Will Not Rise”? Was that done after your departure?

Yes, I was no longer in the country, and I didn’t carry out that action, but it’s important to note that after the war began, we transformed from an art group into an art movement. Many people sent us photos and videos of their actions, many of whom we don’t even know. This happened in the spring of 2022 when people still felt they could do something. The action you’re talking about was performed by someone whose identity is still unknown. Later, I corresponded with his girlfriend and found out that this person had died. He managed to emigrate from Russia and passed away in exile. That’s the story.

The Party of the Dead then proposed some fairly simple practices that could be replicated in different contexts and maintained anonymity. Many people used these ideas to create something of their own, to not remain silent.

How did you end up in exile? Did you have to give up art and what you do?

Initially, we went to Turkey, where we stayed for a while. Then I moved to Georgia because my child had already been living there for a year by that time.

From my perspective, in Georgia, I ended up doing much more than I did in Russia. Much of this was related to the situation in Georgia, as many migrants from Russia arrived there after the war. Since everyone was concentrated in one place, there was a mix of completely different groups of people from very different contexts. A fairly tight and interesting opposition migrant community emerged there.

I believe it is still like that, although many are now leaving Georgia. Compared to Russia, it felt almost magical, especially at first. Russians and Belarusians escaping from a fascist and police hell suddenly found themselves in beautiful lands where everything blooms. Three years ago, control was quite weak regarding what you did. In 2022, it was very easy to carry out various actions, including in central locations. On one hand, the state doesn’t help you at all; you simply don’t exist for it. You entered without a visa and can live for a year. On the other hand, that state didn’t interfere with what you were doing. It felt much safer than in Russia. There wasn’t that fear of being arrested or having someone come for you. It all happened in a kind of immigrant bubble. The immigrant community didn’t integrate into the Georgian context, and the Georgians didn’t particularly wish to welcome Russians.

On the other hand, the community is quite extensive and active, both politically and culturally. When we moved there, we managed to rebuild a community. In general, the Party of the Dead has always been about community. It’s not just about creating products and actions. Ultimately, some sense of community is essential. We were able to create a large, dense, active, and vibrant community there.

Looking back, with two countries and two relocations in your experience, what has been the greatest difficulty?

It’s generally difficult every time, starting over and gathering everything anew. Well, in Germany, I felt that all your symbolic baggage is reset. There’s a sense that you have to start from scratch.

What has helped you the most after emigration, and what would have helped even more?

The most significant help for me has been communication with other people in similar situations, mutual aid, and establishing horizontal connections. Particularly when you continue to create, organize events, and gather people. New connections arise, and a mutual support effect develops.

And now that you’re in Germany, have you felt this yet?

No, not really. I was very sad to leave Georgia. However, I had some strategic considerations. For instance, I have a child. In Germany, I had more opportunities for integration and education. Another factor is a certain fatigue from the necessity to survive. In Georgia, on one hand, it was beautiful since there was no control and it was safe. But on the other hand, it was unclear how to live at all. It’s constantly something you have to think about.

Financial stability for an activist makes for a clearer path. There are scholarships, residencies…
I currently have a rather vague idea of what I will do next. I’ve long wanted to make the Party of the Dead more international, less tied to the Russian context. However, I understand that this is very difficult. We started out of a very specific Russian situation.

I don’t think it could have begun like this in any other place. But nonetheless, I have had this long-standing idea—perhaps some sort of international organization. In Germany, I am still very much impressed by the bureaucracy. It also evokes a certain aesthetic interest for me. I want to work with it as a material for artistic expression. I have an idea for creating some kind of bureaucratic organization as part of an artistic project.