Experiencing Russia and Its Legal System through the International Immersion Program
Editor’s note: Over spring break, 28 Law School students participated the International Immersion Program, which is designed to give students the opportunity learn about international and comparative law. There were three trips: Hong Kong and Singapore, Russia, and the Netherlands. During each, students met with lawyers, scholars, and Law School alumni, and visited law firms, international organizations, and government institutions—experiences that are captured in this slideshow. Below, Morgan Herrell, ’19, shares the story of her visit to Russia—beginning with a heart-thumping experience at border control.
My Law School classmates and I had been traveling for more than 14 hours, and we were tired as we approached Passport Control at the Moscow airport. It was the start of a two-week visit to Moscow and St. Petersburg as part of the Law School’s International Immersion Program, and we were eager to get to our hotel, rest up, and begin exploring the Russian legal system; our series of meetings kicked off first thing in the morning. Not only had Russia dominated the news for months back home, many of us had studied the language or spent time in the country previously, and we were interested to see how much things had really changed in recent years.
I’d briefly lived in St. Petersburg in 2010, and I’d been through the tense ritual at Russian border control before, waiting in a small metal booth as an expressionless officer examined my passport. This time, however, was different. Instead of waving me on, the officer picked up his phone, and, after a very quick whispered conversation, told me to step out of line and wait.
And so I stepped back, and waited, until the officer eventually told me that there were unspecified “problems” with my visa. Meanwhile, my other 11 classmates and a member of the Law School staff all filed through without problem, to wait on me in Russia proper.
After an hour of tense waiting, the officers issued me a new entry visa there in the Sheremetyevo terminal. Still, it was a memorable beginning to what turned out to be a fascinating, and generally very friendly, visit—one that began with a week in the capital, followed by another in St. Petersburg, the imperial “Window to the West.” We met with attorneys, law students, and activists, and many of us were surprised by how willing they were to frankly discuss their work and study in today’s Russia. Only once did a group hesitate to answer a question—in that case, over concerns that the lack of any definitions in Russia’s “gay propaganda” law could potentially criminalize even theoretical discussion. But others were willing to explain their take on this law with us, along with such controversial issues as the annexation of Crimea, the Russian Orthodox Church’s new political influence, and the condition of the Russian criminal justice system.
Many of the practitioners we met described choices few American lawyers would face. One prominent criminal attorney described the nature of the criminal justice system not as prosecution versus defense, but as individual versus state. His goal in most of his cases was not an acquittal, he said, citing astronomically small acquittal rates, but rather to minimize sentences as much as possible. His clients could live with a criminal record, but not through decades of confinement in extremely harsh conditions. When we visited the Institute for Law and Public Policy, an energetic NGO pioneering strategic constitutional litigation in Russia, we found out that the day before the doors to their building had been blocked by reporters from the state-run television channel NTV, who demanded that visitors explain why they wanted to undermine the Russian government.
The law students we met also offered an honest window into the state of legal education and the profession. The students excitedly welcomed us into their universities; they were eager to meet Americans, some for the first time, and to show off their school and ask us about ours. We were repeatedly asked whether we were on Instagram or Facebook. But along with this earnest excitement came notes of cynicism about the state of the profession they were entering. One student explained that many prefer the private sector to government or judicial work, believing that it is impossible to remain moral or ethical in those positions.
Ultimately, the theme we kept circling back to in these conversations was the gap between the law as it exists on paper and the law as implemented in daily life. That same attorney who painted such a dismal picture of the criminal justice system praised the Russian Criminal Code. Over our two weeks in Moscow and St. Petersburg, we heard almost the exact same words multiple times describing the Russian Constitution—that on its own it is “one of the best in the world,” but adherence to its tenets is uneven and unpredictable. The state governs law, they told us, not the other way around.
At first glance this might paint a disheartening picture of the legal profession in contemporary Russia, but our trip also impressed upon us that there are many dynamic, determined modern Russian lawyers. In our meetings, they matched their frank evaluation of the rule of law in Russia with a determination to zealously advocate for their clients and their country. It was a reminder to both appreciate and continue to champion our own justice system back home.
Russia’s image in the United States, especially now, is very often one of coldness, secrecy, and dysfunction. And while the journey towards rule of law still has miles to go, I believe every member of our group would attest to the warm and open welcome we found at every university, law firm, or civil society organization we visited. The image most representative of our time in Moscow and Petersburg was not Passport Control barring me from entering the country, but rather their officers putting in extra work late on a Sunday evening to make sure I could come in.