On 12 July, the Moscow Tagansky court found art curators Yuri Samodurov and Andrei Yerofeev guilty of “inciting ethnic and religious strife” by their exhibition “Forbidden art – 2006” — in a case brought against them by the Russian right-wing organization Narodny Sobor — and sentenced them to pay fines of 200,000 (6,500 USD) and 150,000 (4,900 USD) roubles respectively. The verdict was a disappointment for both reactionaries — hoping for a three-year jail sentence — and liberals — wanting an acquittal. Once again, concerns are raised where the limits on freedom of expression in Russia really are heading. Thus, yet another Russian case is likely to end up in the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg. So, is this all there is to it? Perhaps, but it may also serve as an example of how not only freedom of speech lies in the balance, but also how that balance itself becomes an art “happening” by treading the thin line between art and society — as the debate surrounding “Forbidden art – 2006” illustrates. The saying “A picture says more than a thousand words” is truer to Russia than to most other countries. Take a tormented Jesus with the head of Mickey Mouse or Christ with the face of Lenin, and then wait for reactions. The limits of art are constantly pushed further afield. The dictum of the century-old Russian futurist manifesto “A slap in the face of public taste” maintains as much a prominent role in Russian arts and culture today as it did in the early 1900s. But in our day and age, slaps are not always what they seem. So, what is then the basic story behind it all? Well, back in March 2007 art curators Yuri Samodurov and Andrei Yerofeev organized an exhibition of artworks that had been rejected from mainstream Moscow museums and galleries during 2006 — thus the title “Forbidden art – 2006.” The purpose of the art show was to shed light upon self-imposed censorship quelling the Russian arts scene, turning the tide towards more traditional displays of art. The exhibition had a meagre total of 1,020 visitors. Still, it attracted the attention of a small reactionary religious movement, which took Samodurov and Yerofeev to court for offending their religious feelings. Thus, the show was on the road, ending with the very verdict against the art curators, that now has brought so much attention to the case both in the Russian and international media. LJ user don_beaver indignantly summarizes [RUS] the case thus: Not long ago, some artists organized an exhibition in a private gallery. People who were not even at this gallery declared that their religious feelings had been hurt by the exhibition and went to court. The judge agreed with them and fined exhibition organizers heavily. The only good [thing] about it was that they were not put in jail. What was then the drama that turned the media's attention towards the case — beside its freedom of expression aspects? As the verdict was read out last week, a small crowd of bearded men in black uniforms had gathered outside Tagansky court, wearing T-shirts with the text “Orthodoxy or death.” Behind these lines lies more than what meets the naked eye. “Orthodoxy or death” (gr. ορθοδοξία ή θάνατος) was originally a motto of the famous monastery of Esphigmenou on Mount Athos, Greece, in its struggle against the Patriarchy of Constantinople, but since the 1990s it has become a token of intolerance and extremism also in the Orthodox countries like Serbia and Russia. This photo-op was what caught the eyes of the media present outside the court, resulting in vivid pictures of crackpot nationalists setting the Russian civil liberties’ agenda in newspaper articles throughout the world. The symbolic effect was so great, that rumours about an upcoming church-initiated proposal to addend the Criminal Code with the crime of “heresy” reached respectable newspapers such as Argumenty i Fakty. However, according to LJ user tristen2e [RUS], this was all a hoax: Besides, everyone believed the sensational news, even though they sounded words, ascribed to father Vsevolod, about heresy “as any form of opposition to Orthodoxy.” Obviously, such an unlearned expression in itself could hardly be uttered by such a skilled church diplomat and rhetoric as archpriest Vsevolod Chaplin [spokesman of the Russian Orthodox church]. However, as is often the case with a summer languishing with heat, journalist colleagues could have mixed it up — everybody thought — and thus the news started to travel the web. For the liberal supporters of Samodurov and Yerofeev, the “Orthodoxy or death” emblem, obviously, was like raising a red rag, reminding them of battles fought during dissident days of the soviet past.