Latest news with #Novosibirsk
Russia Today
4 days ago
- Russia Today
Teens recruited by Kiev busted for plot to murder Russian officer
Two teenagers have been detained in Novosibirsk, central Russia for attempting to poison a Russian military officer on orders from Ukrainian special services, the Federal Security Service (FSB) has reported. In a statement on Thursday, the agency said the minors were recruited online through a site offering quick money and were later coordinated remotely from Ukraine. They received instructions via Telegram, the FSB said, as confirmed by data found on their seized devices. The teens were later given three containers of toxic chemicals meant to cause acute heart failure and possibly death, which they applied to the door handle and side mirror of the officer's car. The FSB did not disclose the names of the substances. The joint operation by the FSB and Russia's Investigative Committee prevented the assassination attempt, and the officer was unharmed. A criminal case has been opened for attempted murder committed by a group. Since the escalation of the Ukraine conflict in 2022, Kiev has repeatedly targeted Russian military personnel and public figures, often using sabotage. The FSB regularly reports that it has thwarted these types of plots and has warned citizens to stay alert, noting that Ukrainian intelligence recruits through websites, social media, and messaging platforms. Earlier, the FSB reported the arrest of agents tied to Ukraine's Security Service and Main Intelligence Directorate, which allegedly planned to kill workers at a defense plant in Yaroslavl using toxic chemicals placed in vehicle air ducts. Other reported plots included poisoning food and drinks at an air defense pilot celebration in Armavir and contaminating humanitarian food supplies intended for Russian troops. The suspects in all three plots were charged with preparing acts of terrorism and committing treason.
Al Jazeera
26-07-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
Folk music and raids: How ultranationalists target migrants in Russia
A group of uniformed men, at least one of them masked, walk up to a pair of watermelon sellers in a street on the outskirts of the Siberian city of Novosibirsk. The men are dressed in black, wearing tactical vests with patches bearing the emblem of a bogatyr – a mythic warrior of Slavic folklore – riding on horseback. They inform the traders, who they believe to be foreigners, that they are trading without a permit, and the black-clad men help load their goods into a van to be confiscated by the authorities. But these men-in-black have no official position in law enforcement. A video of this operation was uploaded online on Monday morning by the Russian Community, or Russkaya Obshchina (RO), who boasted of shutting down an 'oriental bazaar'. Since the invasion of Ukraine, the RO has become the largest and most influential ultranationalist organisation in Russia, with 1.2 million subscribers to its official YouTube page and more than 660,000 readers on its main Telegram channel, as well as its own app, and enjoys support from powerful allies within the clergy and security services. 'This is a classic movement of Russian ethnic nationalists,' says Alexander Verkhovsky, director of the SOVA Centre, which monitors hate movements in Russia. 'There used to be [the slogan] 'Russia for Russians', but now that is considered too radical. But in essence, this is what it is about,' he says. RO also claims to stand for conservative moral and religious values, and steadfastly supports the Kremlin, including in its invasion of Ukraine. 'These points define their entire ideology… There have always been nationalists, but the fact that the largest and most prominent Russian nationalist organisation is fully loyal to the government – this is an unusual situation.' Folk singing and a stream of anti-immigrant messages RO was founded five years ago by Omsk politician Andrey Tkachuk, anti-abortion rights activist Yevgeny Chesnokov and Andrey Afanasyev, a host on the TV channel Spas, which is owned by the Russian Orthodox Church. One member told the BBC last year that the idea was to create solidarity among Russians themselves, as other, tightly-knit ethnic communities in Russia already look out for each other, for example, Chechens or Armenians. As such, many of the Community's activities are benign: Helping each other out with flat tyres, or organising festivities on Orthodox holidays such as Maslenitsa (Butter Week), with folk singing and dance performances in the run-up to Easter. But an examination of RO's various Telegram groups reveals a narrow focus on ethnic Russian interests, to the exclusion of Russia's other non-Slavic groups – although there are a handful of minority members – and a stream of anti-immigrant content. 'The blacks will devour everything in their path if the Slavs do not unite to somehow defend their borders and values,' a young female follower of the Community's Saratov branch, who can't be named for fear of repercussions, told Al Jazeera, using a derogatory slur. The group's other activities include vigilantism, often with the open or tacit support of the authorities, observers say. According to Verkhovsky, there are a number of tactics to target immigrants and non-Russian minorities. One is filing official complaints and making denunciations to authorities against what it deems immoral, such as homosexuality or abortion or 'Russophobic behaviour'. Neither of the former are technically illegal in Russia, but there are laws against 'propaganda' related to LGBTQ and 'childfree' themes. Another tactic is raids, such as the one on watermelon sellers in Novosibirsk. 'In the case of migrants, these are places where migrants live or work,' Verkhovsky explains. Members of the Russian Community or similar vigilante groups, for example, the smaller group Northern Man, typically appear where immigrants are working and find some sort of 'violation' – in the case of the Novosibirsk watermelon stall, unlicensed trading. They then detain the alleged violators and hand them over to the police. 'In principle, more or less any citizen can complain to the Russian Community and say he's been offended by some 'bad' people,' says Verkhovsky. 'Ideally, these 'bad' people are not Russian, and the person complaining is Russian. And then the Russian Community will go to protect him.' Sometimes, the group accompanies police on joint operations as 'volunteers', though this is rarer. Verkhovsky noted that attitudes towards RO by different police departments vary, and, while some seem to welcome the group, in other cases, officers have brought charges against Community members – only for prosecutors to drop them. Standing up to a 'crime wave'? The vigilantes claim they are standing up to an 'immigrant crime wave'. There is crime among foreigners in Russia: For instance, Georgians make up more than half of the 'thieves-in-law', an elite fraternity in the criminal underworld. Brawls and beatings involving gangs of young immigrant men often make headlines. However, these well-publicised incidents and individuals contribute only a small part of the overall crime statistics in Russia. According to Sergei Shoigu, secretary of Russia's Security Council, foreigners committed just 2 percent of all reported crime nationwide last year, while comprising roughly 4 percent of the population. Furthermore, Valentina Chupik, a lawyer who offers free legal help to migrants, told Al Jazeera that a substantial portion of these offences are related to improper paperwork, rather than victimising Russians. 'These crimes [missing paperwork] are the inevitable consequence of the organisation of illegal migration, which are committed by homeowners who rent apartments to migrants, but do not fulfil the obligation established by law to register them there,' she says. As well as immigrants, RO campaigns against alleged immorality and 'fifth-columnists' in Russian society. As a human rights advocate, Chupik is considered to be one of these fifth-columnists and has become used to receiving threats and obscenities, including from RO supporters. 'They threaten me regularly,' she says. 'My employees are also threatened, as well as volunteers. They sometimes have posts in their Telegram groups mentioning me. After that, they write to me and call me.' Messages seen by Al Jazeera tell Chupik, 'there's a special spot for you in hell' and to 'wait for the bottle', alluding to sexual assault. Al Jazeera contacted multiple representatives of RO for comment, but did not receive any response. Since a deadly attack on a Moscow music venue last year by ISIS-affiliated gunmen, there has been an upswing in xenophobia. The police have ramped up arrests and other restrictions on immigrants, especially those from Central Asia. Verkhovsky says it is hard to tell to what extent the public is actively hostile towards immigrants, but polling indicates concerns about immigration have sharply escalated. Support the war; gain acceptance In the 2000s, Russia suffered a scourge of far-right-wing violence, peaking in 2008 when skinhead gangs carried out 110 racist murders nationwide. In one particularly grisly episode, a Tajik and a Dagestani were shot dead and beheaded on camera in a woodland near Moscow. In 2022, two men were finally convicted of the double homicide after a third suspect, already imprisoned, incriminated them in his suicide note. For a time, available outlets for xenophobic sentiment dried up somewhat. 'In the 2010s, the authorities greatly suppressed this movement and almost all these organisations either stopped their activities or were simply eradicated,' Verkhovsky explained. 'And people who wanted to share these ideas and wanted to take part were either afraid or just did not know where to go at all.' Some far-right activists moved to Ukraine, where they found common cause with like-minded locals. But RO is a new phenomenon. It prefers to work alongside the authorities, largely forsaking the thuggery of old. And its brand of nationalism aligns with the Kremlin, supporting the invasion of Ukraine and actively fundraising for soldiers and their families. In interviews, founder Andrey Tkachuk has even denied the existence of Ukraine's national identity. 'The state's tolerance towards any groups that support the [war] has grown very much,' says Verkhovsky. 'In general, the authorities don't like any grassroots initiatives, but here they've quite notably tolerated it. This is possible only during a wartime situation.' While the Russian Community stays relatively within the confines of the law – acting as more of an unofficial auxiliary to law enforcement than the skinheads of the past, who eagerly filmed their brazen assaults – Verkhovsky points out 'many of the activists are, shall we say, inclined towards violence, and the leadership can't always hold them back.' In May, for instance, activists armed with pepper spray and a Taser allegedly burst into an apartment near St Petersburg where two men and a woman were drinking and taking illicit drugs. A fire broke out in the scuffle, and one of the men, of Armenian origin, died in the blaze, while the woman suffered serious injuries after jumping from a seventh-storey window. 'Let him burn,' the activists reportedly told witnesses, accusing the man of being a 'pusher'. And last week, a mass brawl erupted between dozens of RO members and Chechen and Ingush workers on a building site northeast of Moscow, after an Ingush security guard reportedly evicted a drunk man from the premises. On Sunday, the group revealed it had been branded an 'undesirable organisation' by local authorities in the Chelyabinsk region of west-central Russia on the grounds of 'extremism'. But RO has friends in high places: according to reports in Russian media, Alexander Bastrykin, the chief of Russia's Investigative Committee, has intervened on members' behalf several times, including filing charges against police officers who arrested them on various charges. And, in June, sources within the security services told reporters from the independent Russian news site, Meduza, that they use RO as a tool for managing 'interethnic conflicts'. Blessed by a vicar Another difference from the old, racist gangs is the influence of the Orthodox Church. The group has campaigned against mosques, requires its members to profess Orthodoxy, and has been blessed by a vicar on behalf of Patriarch Kirill, the head of the Russian Orthodox Church, himself. 'Primarily the Russian Community, but also other organisations of the same type, have a very good relationship with the Russian Orthodox Church,' says Verkhovsky. 'And I mean not just individual priests who sympathise with them, but at the level of high-ranking officials. This is quite unusual. How far it will go, it's hard to say, but it's very noticeable.'
Yahoo
17-07-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
Another Goalie Moves From NHL To KHL
Canadian goaltender Louis Domingue, 33, has signed a one-year contract with Sibir Novosibirsk, the KHL club announced on Thursday. This is Domingue's first contract to play overseas in his career. Originally from Mont-Saint-Hilaire, Que., Domingue played junior hockey for the Moncton Wildcats and Quebec Remparts of the QMJHL, and was drafted in the fifth round, 138th overall, by the Phoenix Coyotes in the 2010 NHL Entry Draft. Between 2014 and 2025, Domingue played 144 NHL regular-season games and seven more in the playoffs for the Coyotes, Tampa Bay Lightning, New Jersey Devils, Vancouver Canucks, Calgary Flames, Pittsburgh Penguins and New York Rangers. In the 2018-19 season with Tampa Bay, he played 26 games backing up Andrei Vasilevskiy and posted a 21-5-0 record – including a run of 11 straight wins – as the Lightning tied an NHL record with 62 regular-season wins (since broken). After playing only two regular-season games for Pittsburgh in 2021-22, injuries to Tristan Jarry and Casey DeSmith forced Domingue into the Penguins' starting role during the playoffs. He entered Game 1 of the first round in the second overtime period against the Rangers and played in six of seven games that series, which Pittsburgh lost. Goalie Spencer Martin Signs In KHL Canadian goaltender Spencer Martin, 30, has signed a two-year contract with CSKA Moscow, the KHL club announced on Wednesday. In each of the past two seasons, Domingue played one game and won for the Rangers, but otherwise spent the rest of the time in the AHL. Domingue becomes the third goalie who appeared in the NHL in 2024-25 to sign in the KHL this off-season, following Chris Driedger and Spencer Martin. Domingue joins a Sibir team that finished seventh in the KHL's Eastern Conference last season and was eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. The team also includes former NHL forwards Scott Wilson and Nikita Soshnikov and 27-year-old Toronto Maple Leafs prospect Vladislav Kara. Photo © Eric Canha-Imagn Images. Pittsburgh Stanley Cup Champion Changes KHL Teams Canadian left winger Scott Wilson, 33, has signed a two-year contract with Sibir Novosibirsk, the KHL club announced on Tuesday. It will be Wilson's fifth KHL team in five seasons.
Fox News
01-07-2025
- Fox News
'Siberian Jesus' sentenced to Russian prison after harming followers in bizarre cult
A Siberian cult leader who claims to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ was sentenced to 12 years in a Russian prison camp after his conviction for physically and financially harming his followers. Sergei Torop, a former traffic policeman known to his followers as "Vissarion," meaning "he who gives new life," and two aides used psychological pressure to extract money from his followers and cause serious harm to their mental and physical health, Reuters reported. Torop, 64, set up the Church of the Last Testament in a remote part of Siberia's Krasnoyarsk region in 1991, the year the Soviet Union broke up. He was one of three men convicted Monday in the Siberian city of Novosibirsk. Torop and Vladimir Vedernikov were sentenced to 12 years, and Vadim Redkin was sentenced to 11 years in a maximum-security prison camp. All three men were arrested in 2020 in a helicopter raid that involved the FSB security service, the successor agency to the Soviet KGB. A bearded self-styled mystic with long hair, Torop claimed to have been "reborn" to convey the word of God. He attracted thousands of followers, some of whom flocked to live in a settlement known as the "Abode of Dawn" or "Sun City" at a time when Russia was battling poverty and lawlessness, according to Reuters. He told his followers not to eat meat, smoke, drink alcohol or swear and to stop using money. Investigators said the men brought "moral harm" to 16 people, damage to the physical health of six people and moderate damage to another person's health. Vedernikov had also been accused of committing fraud, the RIA state news agency reported.
Yahoo
01-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I won the ‘orphan lottery' in Russia and Canada transformed my life: ‘If you hadn't been adopted, you'd be on the streets. Or dead.'
It wasn't until the lime-green S7 Airlines Airbus touched down on the sunbaked Siberian runway that it hit me, a strange, powerful feeling I couldn't shake. For the first time in my life, I felt something close to home. My story began at Baby House No. 1 in Novosibirsk, Russia, one of thousands of children left behind in the wake of the Soviet Union's collapse, a time when survival often meant giving up what mattered most. Yahoo News Canada presents 'My Canada," a series spotlighting Canadians — born-and-raised to brand new — sharing their views on the Canadian dream, national identity, and the triumphs and tribulations that come with life inside and outside these borders. In the early 1990s, international adoption became a growing conversation across Canada. Against all odds, I won what felt like the orphan lottery when a couple from British Columbia's Fraser Valley chose me to be their own. I was privileged to grow up on a farm in Chilliwack, surrounded by open fields, muddy boots and the kind of freedom most kids only dream about. I had a brother and sister adopted from Ukraine, and together with our cousins, we spent our days building forts in the back acreage, racing bikes down gravel paths and hiking up into the mountains to find secret lookouts perched high above the valley. I always knew I was adopted, but that knowledge carried a quiet weight. I often felt like an outsider — like I'd been plucked from one world and dropped over 8,000 kilometres away into another that didn't quite fit. Questions about my identity bubbled beneath the surface: Why was I given up? Did my 'real' family look like me? Did they ever think about me the way I thought about them? My adoptive family never shut down my questions. Instead, they listened with compassion and promised that one day, when I was ready, I could return to the place that had always whispered to a part of me they knew they couldn't reach. That day finally came when I turned 15-years-old. My father and I embarked on the long journey over to Russia on what was supposed to be a roots trip — a chance to see where I came from, to walk the streets of Novosibirsk and to visit the orphanage that once cradled my earliest days. I thought I would feel like a visitor. I was wrong. The moment the wheels touched the ground, a current of emotion surged through me. I didn't have memories of this place, but my body did. The air smelled different. The language sounded both familiar and foreign. And everywhere I looked, I saw children who could have been me — some with hopeful eyes, others already hardened by what they had seen. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Corné Van Hoepen (@cornevanhoepen) We visited the orphanage. It was quiet, timeworn and hauntingly familiar, as if the walls themselves remembered me. A caregiver named Ludmilla still knew my name. I had been known during my stay as Yura, derived from my birthname Yuri. She pointed to the small room where I used to sleep and said something I'll never forget: "You were lucky. So many never leave." That sentence lodged itself in my heart. For the first time, I truly understood what I had been given — not just a home, but a future. A chance. I saw how fragile that opportunity was, how easily my story could have been different. That trip didn't just show me where I came from; it rewired something inside me. It gave shape and meaning to the life I'd lived in Canada, filling in the blank spaces I hadn't even known were missing. My former caregiver didn't sugarcoat what my life would have looked like if I wasn't adopted. She looked me in the eye and said, matter-of-factly, 'If you hadn't been adopted, you'd be on the streets. Or dead.' The words hit harder than I expected. Not because they were cruel, but because I knew they were true. I stood there, in the building where my life had started, trying to picture the version of me who never left. The boy who aged out of the system unnoticed. Who maybe learned to survive, but never had the chance to thrive. It was a version of myself I could almost feel in the walls — a shadow life I'd narrowly escaped. I thought about my bedroom back home on the farm in Canada. A large, extended family who had embraced me with open arms. The quiet, everyday things I'd once taken for granted suddenly felt sacred. That moment cracked something open in me. Gratitude, grief, guilt — it all came rushing in at once. I realized then that my story wasn't just about where I came from. It was about what I did with the chance I'd been given. To me today, being Canadian means more than just citizenship. It means living with compassion, responsibility and a deep sense of purpose. I didn't just inherit a new country; I inherited a second chance at life. As an adoptee, I view everything I have — my education, my freedom, my family — as a gift that countless others never received. That truth fuels something in me: a drive to give back, to live meaningfully, and to make my life count not just for myself, but in honour of the life I could have lived. Canada gave me the space to become who I am, and now it's my turn to turn that privilege into purpose.
