Russians express their frustration with explosion in political satire

Thanks to the internet, YouTube, Twitter and Photoshop, Russians are sending up their leaders like never before
Russian President Medvedev Delivers Last State Of The Nation Address
While Dmitry Medvedev gave his speech at the Kremlin, Twitter was alive with mocking messages using the hashtag #жалкий, meaning 'pathetic'. Photograph: Sasha Mordovets/Getty Images

Russia has a rich tradition of political satire. Late 17th-century luboks, popular proto-cartoons, offered sometimes biting political commentary, not sparing even the famously ill-tempered and brutal reformer Peter the Great or the Orthodox hierarchy. They were often censored and their authors persecuted for blasphemy.

The 19th century gave birth to some of the finest satirical writers: Ivan Krylov, Mikhail Saltykov-Schehdrin, Nikolai Gogol and numerous other Russian writers ridiculed social injustice, corruption and petty tyranny – as endemic in Russia then as they are now.

Anything worked, from didactic fables to absurdist novels (my favourite part in Saltykov-Schehdrin's Tale of a Town features a mayor who has a hurdy gurdy for a brain). Even in the Soviet Union among all-encompassing ideological control there was a legal outlet for politically sensitive jokes: the famous monthly magazine Krokodil. Naturally, no criticism of the Communist party or its senior members was allowed, but low-level bureaucrats and the privileged nomenklatura could often be on the receiving end of Krokodil cartoonists' wit.

But in the Soviet Union there was another, clandestine layer of political satire: jokes told in the privacy of quiet smoking rooms and cramped kitchens. These jokes were virtually the only remedy for the dull, ideologically sterile reality of socialism. Political jokes were dangerous, too: tell one in the company of a KGB informer and say goodbye to your career or even your freedom.

There were even meta-jokes commenting on the perils of political humour. A judge appears from the courtroom, bursting with laughter.

"What's the matter?" his colleagues ask.

"Oh, I've just heard such a hilarious joke," the judge answers.

"Well, tell it to us then," the colleagues say.

"I can't," replies the judge. "I've just sentenced some poor sod to 10 years for it."

We aren't living under a repressive totalitarian regime now – the sovereign democracy is more sophisticated than that – but satire still isn't popular with Russian leadership. The only properly political TV comedy, Kukly (not far off a Russian version of Spitting Image) was cancelled in 2002, after an episode where Vladimir Putin was likened to Little Zaches, the evil, ugly dwarf from ETA Hoffmann's tale.

There are a number of comedy TV shows at the moment, and some, such as Mult Lichnosti (which loosely translates as The Cartoon of Personality), even feature cartoon versions of Dmitry Medvedev and Vladimir Putin , but these are mostly quite loyal and sympathetic and avoid risky subjects such as corruption or election fraud.

So it's only natural that Russian political satire flourishes in the only medium that isn't meticulously micromanaged by the Kremlin's puppetmasters: the internet.

Vladislav Surkov, Putin's "grey cardinal", chose to infiltrate the internet instead of silencing the dissenting voices – although the latter is an increasingly popular tactic, as the post-election website blockades show. Nevertheless, the internet provides an almost complete lack of censorship – and immediacy, both crucial to good satire.

Just minutes after Vladimir Putin's now-infamous comment comparing white ribbons, symbol of protest, to condoms , someone had come up with a fotozhaba (literally "photo-toad", the English-Russian portmanteau used to refer to digitally altered images).

During Dmitry Medvedev's speech on Thursday, Twitter teemed with mocking messages using the hashtag #жалкий (pathetic) and more fotozhabas were made on the spot, mostly criticising the president's inability to properly implement the proposed measures. One features him as Tomorrowman, with the caption "we'll do that [liberalisation of electoral procedures], but not today".

With intellectual parodies of classic Russian verse on Citizen Poet, acres of photozhabas and caricatures, including from some of the country's best graphic designers and YouTube songs – there is fresh political satire every day. But the real jokefest erupted at the time of the elections to the State Duma, the lower chamber of the Russian parliament, which many Russians believe were rigged in favour of United Russia, the ruling party mostly associated with Putin.

Just like two decades ago, Russians are venting their anger and frustration in jokes, new and old, many quite caustic and some well beyond good taste. Two of the most popular are: "United Russia members' wives don't fake orgasm, they falsify it" and "Breaking news: Vladimir Churov, head of the central elections commission of Russia, has been badly injured in a fire. He has sustained burns over 146% of his body surface."

Churov, the bearded sage many believe to be responsible for the fraud, seems to be a particular focus of Russian laughter; a playful commentary from Medvedev calling Churov a "magician" certainly didn't help.

Russian Londoners who assembled on 10 December next to the Houses of Parliament chanted "Churov belongs in Azkaban", while internet users quickly came up with a graphic response.

Lately we've seen Russian political joke 2.0: well-versed in graphic design, internet and everything from Harry Potter movies to video games and 4chan memes. It's both an antidote to the paranoid and triumphalist Putinist ideology and a tool of self-cognition: we joke therefore we are ("We exist!" is what supporters of Alexey Navalny, the opposition leader, chanted at spontaneous mass demonstrations in Moscow on 5 December).

The funniest piece of satirical commentary on the Russian elections, however, did not come from within Russia. Germany isn't exactly a pillar of comedy, but a clip from ZDF's Heute Show, which included reports of Moscow cemeteries where 100% of cadavers voted United Russia and below-the-belt ridicule of Medvedev ("that vile creature that lives in Putin's rectum"), immediately went viral in Russia.

The best bit comes at the end: "But surely, now that it's clear that Putin and Medvedev's power is democratically illegitimate, our authorities will completely review their policy towards Russia?" Both anchors laugh hysterically.

Alexey Kovalev is the London correspondent for and tweets as @yenisei23