"Some Kind of Miracle"

Lida Moniava was not sent to a pretrial detention center while the investigation of her case proceeds. Here is what happened outside the courthouse in Moscow, where some two hundred people gathered to support the founder of House with a Lighthouse.

Text and photo credit: Bereg

The hearing to determine pretrial restrictions for Lida Moniava, founder of House with a Lighthouse, was scheduled for five o'clock in the evening on September 3.

There is still a full hour to go, but Muscovites who have come to support the charity founder are already gathering outside the Simonovsky Court building in Moscow.

Early in the morning of August 2, Moniava's home was searched as part of a criminal case against her regarding "fakes" about the Russian army, and she was then arrested. The pretext was a post that Moniava published on Telegram in 2023 to mark the first anniversary of Russia's invasion of Ukraine: "For a year now, my country has been sending missiles, tanks, and soldiers into Ukraine. For a year now, innocent people have been dying because of it," she wrote.

Directly in front of the courthouse, in the parking lot reserved for official vehicles, stands a short young woman – Nadezhda. It's clear she is very nervous. She introduces herself as Moniava's goddaughter.

"I'm waiting for justice. If a person like Lida is sent to prison, something very terrible will happen to the world," Nadezhda says.

Gradually, a mixed crowd gathers by the parking lot. Standing among them are young people who could be described as alternative types, middle-aged folks, and elderly members of the support group. Some call themselves friends and acquaintances of Moniava; others, like Makar, a red-haired young man dressed all in black, learned about her via recent news reports.

"When I read about Lida, I understood that she is the purest kind of person — kind, with the most noble of goals," Makar tells Bereg. "Of course, it's a real shame that things turned out this way."

Makar says he isn't elevating his expectations ("so as not to be disappointed") that the charge against Moniava will be dropped or that she'll be released from custody.

Mikhail, an acquaintance of Lida's, also came out to support the founder of House with a Lighthouse. He speaks about Moniava the same way dozens of people have in posts published on Facebook in support of her over the past 24 hours.

"I admire her, both for what she does and for her position, and for the fact that she doesn't hide it. That's genuinely brave," Mikhail says with conviction. "There's an option to do charity work while still being a conformist, because charity work redeems everything. But Lida did noble work, and for the sake of it she was not a conformist."

At the start of the large-scale Russian-Ukrainian war, Moniava did not leave the country and continued helping terminally ill children. Alongside this work, she created a fund to help refugees from Ukraine and Nagorno-Karabakh, as well as residents of the Kursk border region who suffered after it was invaded by Ukrainian armed forces in August 2024.

While helping people affected by Russia's invasion of Ukraine, Moniava wrote anti-war posts on her Facebook page. In February 2026, the charity founder had already been fined R45,000 over these posts for "discrediting" the Russian army. In the posts, she wrote about the deaths of children as a result of a Russian missile strike on Kryvyi Rih and the deaths of the Martynenko family — a father, a mother, and their eleven-year-old son — as a result of a strike on Sumy.

After the February hearing, at which the judge ruled on her fine, Moniava thanked her subscribers for their support and wrote that she had "received a lot of advice to leave Russia":

When Center "E" [shorthand for police centers combatting extremism] comes pounding on your apartment door, that's frightening, of course. But look at the photo — see how great our shift [at the hospice] is going with Anya, a girl who lived behind the fence of a boarding institution for nineteen years. If I leave, more palliative-care children will end up lying in institutions and intensive-care units. I doubt that, against that backdrop, I could live happily in some other country. So emigration isn't in the plans.

In the same post, Moniava added: "I also can't stay silent, as if there were no war. Trying to live truthfully comes first for me."

Natalya, who came to the Simonovsky Court, is not personally acquainted with Lida but has followed her work for a long time. "I'm simply in shock at what's happening," she says. "It's probably to be expected, but it's still very hard for me to accept. I'm an outside observer, and I just respect her work, which is why I came here to support her. Lida is a wonderful person who helps others live and survive. That's very important in our world. In turbulent times you need to support one another somehow and do something."

Also coming to support the founder of House with a Lighthouse were Nobel laureate Dmitry Muratov, former editor-in-chief of Novaya Gazeta; Nyuta Federmesser, founder of the Vera fund, which helps the terminally ill, and co-chair of the same fund, actress Tatyana Drubich; and a fund employee, Daniil Maksimov, founder of an inclusive magazine about sex for people with disabilities.

Maksimov is a blogger who talks on his social media about living with spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), as well as the problems faced by people who get around in wheelchairs. On the day of the hearing to determine Moniava's pretrial restrictions, several people in electric wheelchairs gathered outside the Simonovsky Court.

Closer to five o'clock, the prison transport van that had been parked in the lot pulls away from the courthouse. Someone in the crowd — by this point around 200 people have gathered — says: "That one's probably leaving now, and another one will already have Lida in it." When, shortly afterward, another prison transport van does drive at the court, people begin chanting: "Lida! Lida!"

Through the barred windows, it's impossible to make out who's inside. The van pulls into the garage.

People line up to enter the courthouse. The line moves very slowly. Among those gathered, a woman in a blue jacket stands out: she's holding a copy of Viktor Vilisov's book Нас всех тошнит ("We're all sick to death") in a bright orange binding. Off to the side of the line stands Yekaterina Duntsova, head of the Rassvet party; somewhere in the crowd are Tatyana and Valery Yashin, the parents of Ilya Yashin, a convicted politician who was exchanged to Germany.

"So many people — this is a really high-profile case," someone in the crowd says.

"Yeah, this isn't like the Remeslo case."

Forty minutes on, the line to get in still hasn't ended. Two young men with tripods come out of the courthouse to join it. Someone in the crowd asks hopefully:

"So, any news?"

"No, nothing at all."

It's just past five o'clock. Nyuta Federmesser, who had gone into the courthouse near the front of the line, comes back outside. "Lida hasn't arrived yet," she reports. "We came back down because we can't breathe in there. There's no point standing here anymore, because everyone's about to be kicked out soon. The court only works until six."

Some of those who came aren't in a hurry to leave the courthouse, even though it's genuinely very stuffy inside. Dmitry Muratov has taken up a spot right by the entrance to the courtroom. One of the women who came to support Moniava suggests to those gathered that they take a postcard and write some warm words on it — they'll later be able to pass it on to the charity founder. A police officer comes up to the floor and asks everyone to leave the building: the court's working day is over.

Everyone goes down to the courthouse yard — it's packed with people. In the center, a group of people is sharing a pie. Soon police clear everyone out of the yard as well, and the gates close; now everyone waits for Moniava by the fence.

From cars with their flashers on, traffic police officers keep an eye on the crowd. One of them comes out to the assembled group with a phrase well known from rallies and pickets.

"Dear citizens, do not obstruct the passage of other citizens!"

"We've heard that one somewhere before," a woman in her sixties answers him. "You people have really worn out your welcome!"

At some point word gets around that Moniava has in fact been brought to the courthouse, and that the hearing has begun. The press was not permitted to attend.

"I know Lida personally," says Fatima, who came to the Simonovsky Court to support the charity founder. "Lida is a wonderful person, she has done a great deal in our country to help children with severe and incurable illnesses, and she built up the system of palliative care. Of course, the fact that she is inside the Simonovsky Court building is a fairly monstrous story."

Neither Fatima nor Mikhail, who respects Moniava for refusing to conform, expects "anything good" to come of the judge's ruling.

Half an hour later, the crowd begins to stir. The courthouse doors open, and two security officers appear on the threshold. Several people start chanting "Lida!," but she isn't visible in the doorway. A few men come out through the doors, then a woman. "The working day is over," people in the crowd remark.

While waiting, someone starts singing, but the words of the song are impossible to make out.

Finally, Moniava's attorney Mikhail Biryukov reports from inside the courtroom that the founder of House with a Lighthouse is being released from custody; she is being placed under a "ban on certain actions." While the investigation is ongoing, she is not allowed to go outside between eight in the evening and eight in the morning, to communicate with witnesses, or to use the internet.

A little after eight in the evening, Moniava and Biryukov finally come out of the courthouse; the people waiting for them behind the fence chant the charity founder's name and applaud. Once through the gates, Moniava tells those gathered: "I thought I was going to be sent away for ten years. This is some kind of miracle."

She says the investigators spent "very many hours" trying to persuade her to admit her guilt: "For some reason it's very important that the defendant say they feel guilty. I don't feel guilty. What I want is for the war to end as soon as possible."

"Is there something you'd like to do right now?" journalists ask Moniava.

"See my friends," she answers, smiling.