By Daria Dergacheva
At the end of June, a court sentenced Grigory Skvortsov, a musician, photographer, and urban explorer from the city of Perm in Russia, to 16 years in a high-security penal colony for state treason. The legal advocacy group First Department, which defends citizens unjustly accused of crimes against the state, has called his case one of the most absurd of its kind.
Skvortsov, who is also the founder of the experimental music project Jagath and known for a torrent of projects blending urban exploration, music, and publications in local media, was accused of treason for emailing archives from a book about Soviet bunkers, which had long been publicly available and are still online.
In late November 2023, Skvortsov suddenly vanished for several days. While this wasn’t unusual behavior for him, people started to worry. It turned out he had been detained by security agents in his apartment in Perm and then transported the next day to the Federal Security Service's (FSB) investigative department in Moscow. Weeks later, his supporters learned he was being accused of state treason, with early reports suggesting he had allegedly transmitted classified information to Americans.
It would take months to uncover that the information involved in the charge was actually a monograph by historian and Moscow Underground Museum staffer Dmitry Yurkov, titled “Soviet ‘Secret Bunkers’: Urban Special Fortification from the 1930s–1960s,” along with other declassified archival materials that formed the basis of the supposedly “secret” book — which was, in fact, not secret at all.
The website dedicated to the book stated that around 500 documents were used in its creation. The museum's page noted that all printed copies had sold out and no reprints were planned; however, the book is still available for free online and can also be found in Russian libraries.
The book received widespread media coverage, including reviews in Rossiyskaya Gazeta and other official media outlets. When it was released in 2021, authors Dmitry Yurkov and illustrator Anastasia Zotova held a public launch event at the Bunker 703 museum, 42 meters (close to 138 feet) belowground. A recording of this presentation still exists. When asked where the line is drawn between “secret” and “non-secret” materials, Yurkov responded:
The word ‘secret’ is in quotation marks on the cover — just like the word ‘bunker.’ Our legislation doesn’t recognize terms like ‘secret bunkers.’ What matters is the classification of documents. If the ‘secret’ label is lifted, the document is publicly available. Once the government deems it no longer vital to national interests, it becomes accessible to historians. We limited the study to 1969 because no declassified documents from after 1970 were available.
Adding that Russia's declassification system is disorganized, Yurkov explained that the same document might be declassified in one archive and still considered “top secret” in another. He has, however, avoided commenting on Skvortsov’s case, leading some in the urban exploration community to suspect him of complicity. However, Yurkov later told Novaya Vkladka:
I saw only one confirmed fact — that it’s a treason case. And in such cases, the intent matters more than the action. You could take a photo out a window and be convicted if you send it abroad saying, ‘This will help defeat Russia.’ I work at the Moscow Underground Museum, studying mid-20th-century history. My materials are in libraries and online. I don’t know when a document’s classification might change. No one reports that to me. I have no clearance or special access. The book was never banned and is still publicly available.
In a letter to First Department while in detention, Skvortsov wrote:
The book is mentioned in the case, but I didn’t send just the book. Yurkov sold additional declassified archive scans — over a thousand pages — which I purchased. I combined those with photos and diagrams from the internet and sent them to a journalist. I just wanted to share it.
Reports claim Skvortsov was jailed for “sending the ‘Secret Bunkers’ book abroad,” but the story is more nuanced. Yurkov and his team also sold a supplementary archive pack of documents on which the book was based. A close friend of Skvortsov, speaking anonymously, said:
Those documents were blueprints, declassified texts — officially made public. The issue wasn’t the book, but that Skvortsov allegedly geolocated those old diagrams on modern maps, revealing site locations. Some of these old bunkers might still be in use. You used to be able to buy just the book or the book [and] archives on the website.
The archive pack really did exist, and an entry about it remains in the web archive. It cost just RUB 500 (about USD 6) and was circulated in 2021. There’s no evidence it included any classified materials at the time it was sold, and Skvortsov likely bought them during that public distribution — but later, something changed. Perhaps some declassified materials were re-classified, but this isn’t public knowledge because the Russian system is opaque.
Skvortsov denies that he altered or recompiled anything in a way that revealed sensitive locations:
The investigator ignores that the original file already contained the site locations. They claim I geo-referenced it and created an ‘electronic map,’ which I didn’t.
In April 2023, Skvortsov claims he emailed the book and archive pack to Mattathias Schwartz, a US-based freelance journalist. Schwartz has not responded publicly.
According to Skvortsov himself, his intention — given that he had no access to any state secrets by definition — was fairly simple: several years before his arrest, he had expressed a desire to publish stories on his favorite topic (industrial tourism, underground structures, etc.) in various outlets, including those abroad.
This desire eventually led him to Schwartz, whom he apparently chose at random. Skvortsov sent him a collection of documents about Soviet bunkers and tried to negotiate a freelance fee for the material, but according to Skvortsov, Schwartz turned his pitch down. As a result, Skvortsov forbade Schwartz from publishing anything.
The Russian court, however, described this act as selling information about military infrastructure to a foreign national for money, despite the fact that all the maps and diagrams were either from Yurkov’s archive or from public digger websites. Skvortsov wrote:
These materials, apparently now considered state secrets, had been freely available online for decades due to the negligence of the FSB and GUSP [Main Directorate of Special Programs of the President of the Russian Federation].
Skvortsov's lawyer, Yevgeny Smirnov from First Department, says the case is part of a disturbing trend:
This happens regularly. The FSB doesn’t inform people without security clearance that a document’s classification has changed. If they did, that itself would be a leak. Many treason cases are based on public data retroactively declared secret.
From jail, Skvortsov insists he only sent supplementary materials, not the book — but few care. Yurkov, in his own way, was also a casualty, his reputation tarnished.
Matt Schwartz likely doesn’t even remember the exchange. Global Voices sent a message to Schwartz inviting him to discuss the case, but no response has yet been forthcoming.
In Russia, few institutions remain that can support people like Skvortsov. Even PERMM, the state contemporary art museum that once hosted his photo exhibit, is under siege; its former director, Naila Allakhverdieva, has fled the country and is now wanted for “insulting religious feelings.”
Yet, Skvortsov and his support group remain active. He’s awaiting appeal in a Perm pre-trial detention center, hoping either for a regime change, an amnesty or possibly, a prisoner exchange. He urges readers to subscribe to his Telegram channel “Traitor” — a name he chose himself — where he shares stories of people unjustly accused of crimes against the state. He also regularly sends content, including notes from his time in Moscow’s Lefortovo Prison. [Global Voices/VP]