Attorney Ilya Novikov: Some of my clients have been actual murderers—and they aren't even the worst people I've ever dealt with

Ukraine is a far more law-abiding country than Russia

Russian lawyer Ilya Novikov became widely known in Ukraine after he took on the defense of Nadiya Savchenko, who had been captured by the Russians. Although he had a major falling-out with the pilot’s two other defense attorneys, Mark Feigin and Mykola Polozov, during the trial, and they called him a “Cossack sent by the Kremlin,” Novikov’s popularity grew, as did his client base.

Ukrainians may also have heard of Novikov as a contestant on the Russian quiz show “What? Where? When?” However, it was precisely because of the “Savchenko case” that he was forced to leave this elite club. In an interview with “Glavkom,” the lawyer spoke about Savchenko’s main problem, why he now frequently visits Ukraine, and how Ukrainian courts differ from Russian ones.

Ilya, what connects you to Ukraine now?

First, there are the cases I’ve been handling over the past three years, plus new ones are coming in. Not all of them are political; some are quite ordinary cases. Second, last December, my colleagues and I registered a law firm in Ukraine; we have two offices: in Kyiv and Odesa. This time, I didn’t come alone—I brought two colleagues from Moscow so they could register with the Ukrainian Bar Association. We plan to make our team more versatile. This is necessary so that a Russian court will consider a document from Ukraine, given their total reluctance to accept such documents. One way to compel the court to do this is to be a lawyer listed in the Ukrainian registry, file a request in Ukraine on one’s own behalf, receive a response to it, and bring that response back to Russia. Otherwise, if we act through a Ukrainian colleague, the Russian court will ask: Where did this Ukrainian lawyer come from? Does he represent the defendant’s interests in the Russian Federation? If not, then what is the purpose of this request?

How many clients do you currently have in Ukraine whose cases are you handling right now?

Six criminal cases.

Are you currently in contact with Nadiya Savchenko?

I spoke with her briefly before she was scheduled to undergo questioning (at the SBU, — “Glavkom”), wanting to understand what was happening around her. From the start of the Ukrainian “Savchenko case,” I never assumed I could defend her, even though legally I have the right to do so as a foreign attorney listed in the Ukrainian registry. I’m not the kind of defense attorney she needs right now. In Russia, the main focus of my work was to prove her alibi. Lawyers, like actors, have their own roles. And it would be difficult for me now to play the role required by the Savchenko case.

Nadiya’s attorney, Viktor Chevguz, announced his recusal. He explained his decision as follows: “It’s fine to defend someone who wants to defend themselves and follows the advice of experts. But someone who’s on their own path… This is a criminal offense. I’m a criminal defense attorney, but Nadiya defends herself using political methods. I don’t get involved in politics.” Personally, were you comfortable working with Nadiya? Did she listen to you?

Not really. Savchenko is a complex person, and in my opinion, no defense attorney could possibly control her like that. For example, after the Russian court’s verdict on Savchenko, the question arose as to whether we would file an appeal. And Nadiya forbade us from filing one. Legal ethics dictate that the client decides for themselves what they want to do and what they don’t. Even if a client wants to do something that could be dangerous for them—that’s their decision, not the lawyer’s. And the lawyer either carries it out or, if the law allows it, withdraws from the case. By the way, this works a little differently in Russia and Ukraine. In Russia, the general rule is that once you’ve agreed to defend someone, with very rare exceptions, a lawyer has no right to withdraw from the case without the client’s consent.

“The Savchenko Law was right and necessary; its repeal was a big mistake.”

You advised Nadiya while the “Savchenko Law” was being drafted. Now Nadiya makes no secret of her presidential ambitions. Will you advise her as a politician?

No, I don’t plan to.

Why do you think the “Savchenko Law” was so heavily criticized?

The law was right and necessary; repealing it was a big mistake. For some reason, people view it in simplistic terms: at worst, they say it was a law bought with money; at best, they complain about cheap humanism—as if to say, “Let’s take pity on the criminals and release them all.” That’s not the case. If the Rada had used it as a stepping stone and launched criminal law reform from there, that would have been exactly what was needed. I’m speaking now as a lawyer, not as a foreigner dispensing advice: Ukraine has a very good—even brilliant for a post-Soviet country—Code of Criminal Procedure, and a Criminal Code that is by no means Neanderthal or Soviet-style.

People ask: Why did this rapist serve only three years instead of eight—because of the “Savchenko law”? But the question should be: Why does Ukraine’s Criminal Code provide for a maximum of eight years for an offense that would carry a 30-year sentence in the U.S.? And even before the Savchenko Law was repealed, judges had already learned to take this factor into account, determining the sentence based on the time the defendant had already spent in pretrial detention. Investigators did complain, however, that they could no longer pressure people through indefinite pretrial detention, but that was precisely the point. Nevertheless, the name “Savchenko,” which had previously helped secure the law’s passage, later became the main argument for its repeal. I very much doubt that the majority of lawmakers—who initially voted “for” the Savchenko law and then “against” it—actually understood what exactly they were voting on.

How did the “Savchenko case” affect your career?

In a positive way. I managed to achieve some good results under difficult conditions, and quite a few fellow lawyers later came up to me to congratulate me. It’s not that important what the general public thinks about this. At first, the public idolized Savchenko, but now they say she was recruited either in pretrial detention or perhaps even earlier. For some reason, for many people, suddenly having their illusions shattered in 2016 turned out to be more painful than believing that it was all a hoax from the very beginning. It wasn’t, but let everyone stick to their own opinion. It’s hard for people to admit that they simply put their faith in the wrong person. I, for one, believe that everything done back then was done well and correctly. I’m still a little proud of my idea regarding the forensic astronomical analysis.

In late December 2015, Olga Vozyakova, an astronomer from Moscow, calculated the sun’s altitude in the video footage showing the moment of the deaths of Anton Voloshin and Igor Kornelyuk, employees of the “Russia” TV channel, and confirmed that Savchenko was not involved in the journalists’ deaths, for which she had been accused. From the very beginning, Nadiya’s defense team’s strategy was based on the fact that the pilot had been taken prisoner before the mine killed the journalists.

Currently, a significant portion of my caseload consists of cases related to Ukraine. There are more than 60 Ukrainians being illegally detained in Russia. I am handling four such cases. The fifth case is somewhat different: a Ukrainian man is allegedly in prison for attacking a Russian police officer—I’m trying to help him. If it weren’t for the “Savchenko case,” I probably wouldn’t be handling these cases right now. Although they are all pro bono (from the Latin pro bono publico, literally “for the public good”—Glavkom), it’s important for me to see them through to the end.

Russian attorney Ilya Novikov

“A significant portion of my caseload consists of cases related to Ukraine”

There’s also the high-profile “Yanukovych case” in Ukraine. You once said that you consider it “incredibly interesting and difficult to defend.” Would you agree to defend Yanukovych?

That’s not a fair question: a lawyer can’t lightly say whether he’d take the case. I’d be doing a disservice to my colleague Serdyuk, who’s handling this case. This case is indeed interesting, but generally speaking, in absentia trials with a rather vague prospect of putting someone behind bars make sense in three cases. The first is when it’s a trial to rehabilitate the deceased (which isn’t our case). Second—when new important facts are established during the judicial investigation. Third—in the case of a clear demonstration of something that may have seemed controversial before the trial but “comes to light” during the hearings. In my view, the “Yanukovych trial,” unfortunately, has achieved nothing substantial in any of these areas. We didn’t learn anything sensational: no new circumstances regarding the events of 2014 came to light; essentially, everything that was known before the trial began remains the same. It’s hard to say why such a trial is needed right now.

Would it have made sense sooner or later?

It certainly made sense earlier. I think it will make sense later as well, because far from everything is known about this story. Perhaps trials unrelated to Yanukovych—but involving other figures from those events—will shed some light on the matter.

When you started working with Savchenko, you voluntarily left “What? Where? When?”…

Not exactly. When I first started working with her (in 2014, — “Glavkom”), I warned the editors that problems might arise. However, all the way until 2016, when the Savchenko story reached its climax, the editors and producers somehow managed to balance the situation. It was only when the process entered the home stretch and it became impossible to ignore that during the day Novikov was by Savchenko’s cell, and in the evening Novikov was with “the butterfly,” that we parted ways with the show amicably, without a scandal.

Which experts do you keep in touch with? Have you lost any friends among them since the “Savchenko case”?

I keep in touch with everyone. I haven’t lost any friends. Among people who play these kinds of games, the sample isn’t very representative. We’re all very smart—or at least that’s how we see ourselves. Compared to the average Russian, very few of us approve of what our government is doing—there are almost none of us who do.

What is your current citizenship?

Russian.

You were planning to change it to Ukrainian. Did you change your mind?

There was a tense period when I thought that at any moment I’d have to head to the airport just as I am… That period seems to be over, though it’s hard to say for sure. After the elections that took place in Russia three weeks ago, many processes—repressive ones, related to tightening the screws—that had been on hold until now will be resumed. In Russia, no one knows what tomorrow will bring. However, at least my gut feeling tells me that there is no immediate threat right now. However, I view Ukraine as an important arena for my work, and if I have to move here, I won’t live here as an emigrant—I’ll apply for citizenship. I have certain rights to do so: my grandmother was born in Ukraine.

Right now, I have a job in Russia that cannot be delegated to others.

Have high-ranking Ukrainian officials or members of parliament approached you with requests for help or proposals for cooperation?

There was only one instance of my working with a high-ranking Ukrainian official as a client, but I’m not at liberty to disclose that. The matter had nothing to do with politics. As for high-ranking officials, I met with Poroshenko twice before Savchenko’s release. I communicate with other officials exclusively regarding matters related to the cases of the people I represent, because it is extremely important for me to understand what will happen with the prisoner exchange.

I have two observations. First, Ukraine has a significantly smaller potential exchange pool. It was recently announced that Ukraine is ready to hand over 23 Russian citizens. Meanwhile, there are over 60 Ukrainians being held in Russia. Second—even within the framework of this exchange pool, Ukraine has so far either lost out on the “exchange ratio” or, at best, exchanged one prisoner for another. When Savchenko was exchanged, she was traded for two. When Soloshenko and Afanasyev were exchanged, they were traded for three. I’m not talking now about exchanges with the “L/DNR,” where they swap people by the busload; I’m specifically referring to exchanges with Russia (although Russia always tries to shift the blame onto the “L/DNR”).

As for the recent exchange, when two border guards were exchanged for two border guards, I didn’t get involved in the details, but I believe it took place on Russian terms rather than Ukrainian ones. The Russian authorities have a “magical” tactic: when they need to get someone out—and they’re generally not very interested in their own people—but if a person is truly “one of their own,” they arrest or abduct someone specifically for an exchange. For example, the situation with the border guards unfolded as follows: last summer, Ukraine arrested two Russian border guards, and then in October, something happened to the Ukrainian border guards in the Sumy region. The Russians claim that the border guards entered Russian territory, while the Ukrainian side says they were abducted from Ukrainian territory. I won’t get into these discrepancies; what’s important is the timing itself. It seems Russia dictated the terms of who would be exchanged for whom. Should we hope that Russia’s response to Ukraine’s proposal regarding the 23 Russians will be fair? And what will happen to the rest of the Ukrainian political prisoners if they aren’t included in this exchange? Will they each have to wait several more years? It’s important for me to understand what’s happening in this area right now and to assess my clients’ chances, which is why I have to communicate with officials.

I don’t know Medvedchuk; I’ve never met him. Did I guess your next question correctly?

No, you didn’t. Please give us a behind-the-scenes look: how do officials go about finding a defense attorney? After all, it’s no secret that those in power have entire armies of lawyers.

You’ll be surprised, but that’s not the case.

Ilya Novikov

“The saying that you shouldn’t swear off prison makes much more sense than it seems at first glance.”

Really? Just look at Nasirov—he had nine lawyers dancing around him.

In Russia, officials generally have no illusions that the involvement of a lawyer—acting strictly as a lawyer, not as a “fixer”—can save the day. If you’re an official and you’re in trouble, it means the higher-ups have given the green light to your troubles, and nothing—except, perhaps, your willingness to pay up or offer something else—will save you. However, a lawyer is a necessary figure because, in cases where he cannot influence the verdict in any way, he serves as a link to the outside world.

In Ukraine, however, things are completely different. Ukraine is a far more law-abiding state than Russia. Although there are sometimes abuses of certain procedures, this is possible precisely because Ukrainian courts, compared to Russian ones, take the provisions of the Code of Criminal Procedure seriously; they cannot dismiss all of the defense’s arguments and render a verdict in five minutes. If the defense starts playing the recusal game, the court must see it through to the end. Up to a certain point in Russia, I never even filed recusal motions against judges simply because it made no practical sense. In Russia, a judge considers a challenge against himself and never grants it, because that would violate the confidential principles of judicial ethics. If a judge grants a challenge, it means he is, in a sense, shifting his workload onto someone else, and this is frowned upon by his colleagues. In Ukraine, things are different. So the answer to the question “why so many?” is because it works. Sometimes. However, aside from the “circle dances,” there’s also legal work to be done. And cases vary.

Nasirov, for example, when he arrived at court wrapped in a blanket, was ordered to post bail. And do you remember Martinenko (a former People’s Deputy from the “People’s Front”—“Glavkom”)? He arrived completely calm, even with a touch of phlegmatic composure, said everything he had to say, and was released. Overall, in my opinion, he carried himself with dignity, and because of that, the outcome was a little different. In Russia, by the way, there wouldn’t have been such a difference.

Generally speaking, the process of choosing a lawyer varies, but to this day, the most important factor in our profession is probably “word of mouth”—that is, what your previous clients tell your future clients about you.

And what kind of potential client would you definitely refuse to represent?

I think it’s wrong to frame the question that way. Most often, colleagues respond to such questions by saying, “I would never defend a pedophile,” or a murderer, or a rapist—something that inspires deep-seated revulsion simply because of the nature of the charges. I decide everything on a case-by-case basis. Among my clients have been actual murderers—and they weren’t even the worst people I’ve ever dealt with. The saying that you shouldn’t rule out working with anyone, no matter how unsavory, makes a lot more sense than it seems at first glance.

On the other hand, no matter how unpleasant a person may be, the case itself can be very interesting. It’s a kind of medical cynicism. When a person is lying there, writhing in pain, and a group of doctors is standing over him, the doctor says, “Look, colleagues, what an interesting case.” I’m currently handling one Ukrainian case. Denis Bakholdin is a Russian who fought here in Ukraine on the side of the “Right Sector.” Russia is now accusing him of participating in an extremist organization. But how is this charge formulated in the Russian Criminal Code? An extremist organization banned on the territory of the Russian Federation. “Right Sector” is banned on the territory of the Russian Federation; therefore, in Ukraine, it is neither an extremist nor a terrorist organization—it is a political party. There is a political party called “Right Sector” and there is a civic association called “Right Sector.” According to their charter, only a citizen of Ukraine can be a member of this organization. And here lies this legal conflict: on the one hand, Russia is assuming jurisdiction to judge matters that take place outside its borders. On the other hand—according to Ukrainian law, only a citizen of Ukraine can be a member, but in this case, we’re dealing with a Russian. I want to protect the person, but beyond that, this creates an extremely interesting legal problem—both criminal and international in nature. It may turn out that I don’t particularly like the person themselves, but the problem they come to me with will be such that I won’t be able to resist the temptation to take on the case.

Do you keep in touch with any of your colleagues with whom you defended Nadiya?

No, and I don’t consider them my colleagues. Both Mark Feigin and Nikolai Polozov lied about me when we had a conflict two years ago. Feigin claimed that Novikov was allegedly working for the FSB. Polozov said the same thing about me. That said, I spared Polozov at the time for the sake of his clients: he was handling the cases of Chiygoz and Umerov. I left Polozov alone, but following my complaint, the Moscow Bar Association’s Council issued a reprimand to Feigin, citing “behavior that makes a handshake impossible” and noting that “Feigin has been given a chance to radically change his behavior”—in other words, this is his last chance before being stripped of his license to practice law. Feigin is currently in trouble with another “well-known blogger,” Shariy. The fact that Shariy got in touch with Feigin, to a certain extent, saved Feigin from having to settle things with me, because I wasn’t going to put up with a symbolic punishment (imposed by the Moscow Bar Association, — “Glavkom”) against Feigin. But I didn’t want my name to be seen in this context alongside Shariy’s. Let them sort things out among themselves for now.

Anatoly Shariy is a blogger of Ukrainian origin with openly anti-Ukrainian views. He has been living in Lithuania since 2012.

A conflict has been ongoing between Feigin and Shariy, which began with public accusations of pedophilia: on July 13 of last year, the lawyer claimed on the air on “Echo of Moscow” on July 13 of last year claimed that the blogger had been prosecuted for pedophilia. After lengthy investigations and delays, the Khamovniki Court in Moscow ruled in Shariy’s favor and forced Feigin to apologize. The Moscow Bar Association is still reviewing Feigin’s case. The lawyer insists he is in the right. Recently, testimony from Shariy’s sister appeared online, confirming the allegations against the blogger.

Why did he do this? What’s in it for him?

That’s just Mark’s personality. I think he regrets it now. If he hadn’t gone around giving interviews back in 2016, claiming at every turn that “Novikov is an infiltrator, and we suspected it, and then we found out,” his current situation would be much more favorable.

Why did he decide to slander you this way, rather than Polozov?

I’ve already told this story. At first, Mark and I had a falling out, and Mykola briefly acted as a sort of mediator between us. But he and Feigin have been working together since 2012, and Mark always follows the principle of “whoever isn’t with me is against me,” so Polozov had to choose a side. Our conflict began, I believe, over a minor issue, right at the very end of the Savchenko case. It was early February 2016, meaning we had two weeks left to wrap things up. In June 2014, the SBU’s counterintelligence unit was actively recording the phone conversations of Plotnitsky, Bolotov, and others. And there were quite a few phone calls with specific timestamps, in which the phrase “Commander, we’ve taken the female sniper” was clearly heard. This refers to Savchenko and was said at 10:47 a.m. The Russian journalists were killed at noon. In my opinion, this is very convincing, although some might say that the SBU fabricated everything—and indeed, that’s what people were saying.

When I made this public in court, Mark demanded that I immediately hand over these recordings to him so he could post them on Facebook, because it was supposedly important. I refused. At that time, I had received many things on my “word of honor,” including these intercepted conversations. I promised the investigator that these recordings would not be made publicly available without his permission; I would only read them aloud in my own voice. A phonoscopic analysis had not yet been conducted, and it had not been 100% confirmed that these were the voices of those specific individuals. It was known that Plotnitsky was speaking on one end of the line—since his phone was being tapped—but it was unclear who was calling him. I told Mark at the time: “Since I promised that we wouldn’t release this as an audio recording until after the voice analysis—even though we obtained it through official channels—we won’t publish it.” He got angry, called me a clown, a TV actor. It got to the point where we were working together but no longer spoke to each other—we communicated through Polozov. Then we stopped communicating altogether. And later, Feigin announced that I was supposedly working for the FSB.

Now, a year and a half later, I think I could have reacted more calmly to that situation. Because now, few of the people who weren’t involved in that story remember what was said about whom at the time. But at the time, I took it very hard. Because when a random person on the street says things like that about me—that’s one thing. But when it’s someone we worked with for two years, people tend to believe them more. In the end, though, we seem to have cleared things up. I’m not taking part in the disputes currently unfolding between Feigin and Shariy. Although I’m watching from the sidelines, because if Feigin isn’t stripped of his license to practice law this time, we’ll probably have to sort things out between us.