On the evening of October 13, 2025, the heart of St. Petersburg pulsed with a rare and defiant energy as hundreds of Russians gathered in Kazanskaya Square to sing a song now forbidden by their own government. The event, captured on mobile phones and quickly circulated on social media platforms like Telegram, saw the crowd join street musicians in a rousing performance of "Co-operative Swan Lake"—an anti-war anthem penned by Noize MC, the Russian rapper and outspoken critic of the Kremlin, now living in exile in Lithuania.
The spectacle was striking not just for its sheer size—hundreds were present, jumping and chanting in unison—but for its open challenge to the authority of President Vladimir Putin. According to Newsweek, the song’s lyrics cut deep, calling out the silence of the Russian population amid the war in Ukraine and lambasting the government’s relentless propaganda. In one particularly pointed line, the crowd sang, “Where have you been for eight years, you f***ing monsters? I want to watch ballet, let the swans dance. Let your grandpa tremble with excitement for Swan Lake.” The lyrics also jabbed at the aging Russian leader: “When the czar dies, we'll dance again. The old man still clings to his throne, afraid to let go. Old man in the bunker, still thinks it's nineteen eighty-five.”
Noize MC—real name Ivan Alekseev—has become a symbol of resistance for many young Russians. Labeled a “foreign agent” by Russian authorities, he has faced censorship, canceled concerts, and constant surveillance. After the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Alekseev fled to Lithuania, where he has continued to support anti-war causes and even held benefit concerts for Ukrainians. The song "Co-operative Swan Lake" was released in the wake of the invasion and quickly became an anthem for those opposed to the war, particularly among Russia’s youth.
But in Putin’s Russia, public dissent does not go unnoticed—or unpunished. As reported by the Daily Mail, police arrested Diana Loginova, the 18-year-old street musician who led the crowd in song. She now faces charges for organizing a large public gathering, an administrative offense in today’s Russia. Her mother, Irina, told local media that Diana’s intentions were innocent: “Diana lives with me, she's constantly under my supervision. I often attend her performances myself, then take her home. We are very close, and I know for sure that she has no political stance! Moreover, she's a patriot of our country, she loves Russia very much and has no plans to leave! She has no intention of supporting Ukraine! The songs Diana chooses are those of her favourite artists. Her audience likes these compositions - that's the only reason she sings them. The audience asks, and Diana performs. There is no subtext, no malicious intent. My daughter doesn't encourage anyone to do anything and doesn't promote anything.”
Still, the authorities saw things differently. The performance’s viral spread on Telegram and other platforms drew swift condemnation from pro-Kremlin voices. Marina Akhmedova, editor-in-chief of the state-aligned Regnum news agency, fumed on social media: “A street musician and a crowd of young people in St. Petersburg perform the song of the foreign agent Noize MC, a man who betrayed his native Belgorod and supports the Armed Forces of Ukraine.” Another prominent nationalist, Igor Girkin, shared similar outrage, lamenting, “While our boys are shedding blood for their homeland, young people in the cultural capital are jumping up and down, chanting the lyrics of the foreign agent and traitor, Vanya Alekseev.”
The symbolism of "Swan Lake" runs deep in Russian history. As Newsweek explains, Tchaikovsky’s ballet was repeatedly broadcast on Soviet television during periods of political upheaval—most notably following the deaths of leaders like Leonid Brezhnev, Yuri Andropov, and Konstantin Chernenko in the 1980s, and again during the failed coup of August 1991 that preceded the fall of the Soviet Union. The ballet, intended as a soothing distraction, became a signal to the public that something momentous—and often ominous—was unfolding behind closed doors. By invoking "Swan Lake" in their protest, the St. Petersburg crowd tapped into a potent symbol of political change and unrest.
The defiant performance comes against the backdrop of mounting hardship inside Russia, much of it a direct consequence of the ongoing war in Ukraine. According to the Daily Mail, Ukraine has recently escalated its drone campaign against Russian targets, including a dramatic strike on the Feodosia oil terminal in Russian-occupied Crimea. With a capacity of up to 250,000 tons, it is the peninsula’s largest oil storage and transshipment hub. These attacks, aimed at crippling the financial underpinnings of Putin’s war machine, have led to fuel shortages and record-high gasoline prices across Russia. Last week, Ukraine’s commander-in-chief, General Oleksandr Syrskyi, claimed that his forces had reduced Russia’s oil-processing capabilities by 21 percent—a staggering blow to the country’s economy and its ability to sustain the war effort.
Meanwhile, Kyiv is lobbying hard for more advanced weaponry from its Western allies. Mykhailo Podolyak, a senior Ukrainian adviser, has called for cruise missiles, air defense systems, and joint drone production agreements with the United States. The Tomahawk cruise missile, produced by Raytheon, is high on Ukraine’s wish list, as it would enable pinpoint strikes deep inside Russian territory, including Moscow.
But the prospect of such weapons transfers has become a flashpoint in international politics. While Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky is expected to press the issue in upcoming meetings with U.S. officials, Washington has hesitated, wary of triggering a dangerous escalation with Russia. Still, the rhetoric is heating up. As reported by the Daily Mail, U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth recently told NATO allies, “If this war does not end, if there is no path to peace in the short term, then the United States, along with our allies, will take the steps necessary to impose costs on Russia for its continued aggression. If we must take this step, the US War Department stands ready to do our part in ways that only the United States can do.”
Former President Trump, too, has weighed in, warning that he may authorize the delivery of Tomahawk missiles to Ukraine if Moscow does not halt its war soon—using the threat as leverage in hopes of pressuring Putin to negotiate. The Kremlin, unsurprisingly, has responded with alarm. Putin himself dismissed the idea that Tomahawks would alter the situation on the battlefield, but his spokesperson, Dmitry Peskov, described the issue as “of extreme concern” for Moscow.
The events in St. Petersburg, then, are more than just a fleeting act of protest. They reflect a nation grappling with the consequences of war, a growing willingness among ordinary Russians to voice their dissent, and a government increasingly determined to stamp it out. Even as the risks mount, the voices of resistance—whether sung in a city square or spoken from exile—continue to echo across Russia’s cultural and political landscape.
In a country where public opposition is banned and the costs of speaking out are high, the chorus at Kazanskaya Square stands as a vivid reminder that, even under the weight of repression, the spirit of dissent endures.
