They say that civil society in Russia is celebrating its first victory. Ivan Golunov was snatched from the jaws of the hydra, renowned for its deadly grip. He was extracted from its innards before he could even be touched by its digestive juices. Previously, the hydra never loosened its jaws, devouring everyone—guilty and innocent alike—simply because it was designed that way, built around its sacred privilege of consuming living people, and it never allowed anyone to doubt its right to do so.

But something happened this time. The instant mobilization of tens of thousands of people and hundreds of celebrities, the unanimity with which Lyudmila Ulitskaya and Tina Kandelaki, Lev Rubinstein and Ivan Urgant called for Golunov's release, was unprecedented for Russia. The issue was not just that the system decided to crush a daring investigative journalist—it had crushed both the daring and the less daring before, and nothing happened. The issue was also that anyone could see themselves in Golunov's place.

Because in our country, anyone can have a package of anything planted on them, anyone's home can be broken into in their absence, and a drug lab set up as a backdrop for blockbuster films by directors from the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the FSB. Anyone can be sent to prison for seven years, or even twenty. But the fact that such a method was used against a prominent journalist meant that it could be used against anyone. What united us was not only righteous anger but also fear. It was the acute feeling of absolute powerlessness and the sense that if we remained silent now, they would come for us tomorrow. For us—that is, for you and me.

In Russia, there are two kinds of people: "little people" and "big people." A "little person" is someone who has no one to call if something happens to them. In any confrontation with the authorities or even just with the "big people" who serve them, the "little person" will inevitably be destroyed. The "little people" are the overwhelming majority, but they will never outweigh the "big people," because they weigh as much as air and are worth as much as dirt.

Our main misfortune is not lack of freedom; our main misfortune is lack of rights. The insignificance of a person, their vulnerability. The futility and hopelessness of the struggle for oneself, for one's human dignity, for one's rights. And because of this—zero human dignity. And because of this—zero value of human life.

The happy resolution of Ivan Golunov's drama is not a triumph of justice. It is, as always with us, a triumph of political expediency. It was the avalanche-like mobilization of civil society and the support of informal elites (primarily the still untamed YouTube stars) that forced the hydra to first feign agreement with the protest (through the talking heads of Irada Zeynalova, Margarita Simonyan, and Valentina Matviyenko) and then reluctantly regurgitate what it had swallowed. A decision was made not to rock the boat—perhaps because the people's fear and hatred of the authorities can become truly powerful catalysts for political change in our country.

But it turns out that Golunov was released because, in the end, he did have someone to call—not a familiar prosecutor, but Oxxxymiron, Ulitskaya, Face, Rubinstein, and Dud. Pozner, Bondarchuk, and Urgant.

Tens of thousands of people serving long sentences on false charges had no one to call, and their sentences did not trouble civil society. Before Golunov, there was no sense that this could happen to anyone. Before Golunov, there wasn't—but now there is.

But this feeling will soon pass, be forgotten—replaced by the pleasant afterglow of an easily won victory. A few generals' heads will roll, thrown to the bloodthirsty crowd. And once again, it will seem that such a thing could never happen to us again. After Golunov—no. Yes, a quarter of all convicted in Russia are still serving sentences under Article 228, but we can once again not think about it. Or think that there's no smoke without fire; if they were imprisoned, there must have been a reason. Because thinking this way is more calming. Because both fear and heroism quickly become exhausting.

New heads will grow in place of the severed ones. Because that's how the hydra is designed. It will recover and continue to devour. Having learned its lesson, it will choose smaller targets this time. Us. Us—that is, you and me.