Translation from Le Point: Accused Khodorkovsky, Stand Up!

That day, Khodorkvosky scores. With no consequences. He knows that the State is holding on to him. And it does not want to let him go. "Look, some businessmen were heavily sentenced, to 150 years in the United States", recently stated Russian President Dmitry Medvedev about the case.

His crime? He stood up to Vladimir Putin in the early 2000's. How? He signed checks of several tens of millions iof dollars to the opposition. At that time, the man is worth 15 billion dollars. He is intelligent and cultivates Western looks with no tie and wears thin-framed glasses. He is the head of Yukos oil company, the most powerful company in the country, even able to hire managers from America.

For the regime, Khodorkovsky became a threat. He was arrested on October 25, 2003, right off the plane. Igor Sechin, former KGB and Putin's devoted servant, conceived his case. A godsend: the Russian oligarchs have all built their industrial empires through this rigged privatization. The oil tycoon is not an exception to the rule. The sentence falls: eight years of prison for tax fraud. He was transferred to a Siberian prison, near Chita, in the land of the former Gulag. An icy period punctuated by punishments and episodes of solitary confinement.

As for his company, it sunk. It was dismantled for the benefit of Putin's new oligarchs.

Judicial Farce. But that's not all. As he could hope to be released by the end of 2011, on the eve of the next presidential election, he is again facing his judges. He is threatened, this time, by a penalty of twenty-two years of imprisonment! "They want to keep me until my death". The prosecution case? A jumble of 4000 pages seized at the headquarters of his former group including dry-cleaning receipts, trivial notes from secretaries indicating where they had put away the keys to their offices. "An accumulation of nonsense," said his lawyer, Vadim Klyuvgant. And eventually, a ridiculous complaint for oil embezzlement for a value of 25 billion dollars. "I sincerely tried to prevent the investigators from making themselves ridiculous," says Khodorkovski. In vain...

But the judicial farce takes place every day at the Khamovnicheski court in Moscow, on the third floor of a dilapidated building. According to a well-established ritual, around 10 am, three policemen enter room N° 7. They release a German shepherd in charge of detecting who knows what. Then spectators are asked to group themselves in the staircase. Coming down from upstairs, three members of the Special Forces dressed in black, Kalashnikovs slung over their shoulders. Then come, after them, Mikhail Khodorkovsky and Platon Lebedev, another former Yukos manager, prosecuted for the same complaints. Both have their wrists handcuffed and are escorted by two policemen. There is a burst of applause in the courtroom. The defendants respond with a smile and sit down in the "aquarium", a cell with bulletproof glass, especially designed for them with two openings allowing them to communicate with their lawyers. "The policemen on duty can hear everything they say," says Elena Lipster, one of the defenders.

That day, the courtroom, as small as a classroom, is quickly packed. A woman has put yellow roses on the desk of the lawyers. Khodorkovsky's parents are there, sitting on a bench. Boris, the father, physically-weak, sends a wink to his son. His mother, Marina Filippovna, 73 years old, sketches on her calendar the portrait of members of the accusation, caricaturing them with angel wings. "If the trial lingers on, it might mean that they do not agree at the top of the state," she reassures herself. Nearby, there is also a high school mate whom Khordorkovsky greets with a friendly wave. And supporters like Natella, a small retiree wearing a golden jacket. "My girlfriends think I'm crazy, but I'm here because this man wanted to defend democracy."

Then come the prosecutors, including Valeri Lakhtine, a bony face stooped in his royal blue uniform. To his left, sits his assistant dressed in a miniskirt, wearing suede boots, and constantly readjusting her ring adorned with a black stone. Finally comes the judge, Victor Danilkine, known for his phrase: "Speak more slowly so that the Clerk can take notes!"

And facing them, the witness of the day, Eugene Rybin, a big ruddy man strapped in a striped suit, former manager of a firm bought by Yukos. The day before, he accused Khodorkovsky of having attempted four times to murder him. He also accuses him to have orchestrated the theft of oil by trickery with the price. The only problem is: there is no evidence to backup his allegations. "Have you had any psychological pressure to testify in this regard?" asked the prosecutor, anxious to vindicate himself. "Not at all, I have done everything possible to speed up the investigation. "Everyone knows he's a crook!" whispers Khodorkovsky's mother. "An interesting client at last!" says in triumph in the corridor a journalist from RIA Novosti, the Russian news agency.

Now Khodorkovsky seeks permission to examine the witness. "Don't get angry but I would like to discuss with you since you say you have known the oil industry for twenty years. »Do you know the scientific name of the product coming out of an oil well? - I don't know. - The percentage of water which is contained in this product? - I don't know. - Does the Urals grade for crude oil ring a bell to you? - No. The former millionaire turns to the judge: "It's the equivalent of the letter A for someone who learns how to write." "Stop humiliating the witness!" growls the prosecutor almost jumping off his chair. Khodorkovsky then details the flow of oil all the way to the pipelines. And the witness suddenly admits it seems difficult to steal large quantities of oil. There, he is trapped. "Brilliant demonstration! The prosecution witness becomes the one of the defence!" exults lawyer Vadim Klyuvgant. One of his colleagues gets up and rushes to the blonde from RIA Novosti and asks: "You have noted that, haven't you?"

The prosecutor Valeri Lakhtine drops his pen and takes a look at his witness, swinging his head from right to left. He is shattered.

The session ends. Pensive, the judge looks at the blind of a window over his glasses, stifles a yawn and looks at his watch. "The trial resumes tomorrow," he says. The prosecutor closes his laptop that he never looked at, and strides off with tons of documents in his arms. Both defendants are hysterical with laughter. Khodorkovsky even bows before the witness like a champion who thanks the loser. The witness leaves the room, furious. "We can see that in prison they have time to prepare their defence ... You will see, they will be found guilty," he says, striking back.

In a corner of the court, a commando dressed in black, in charge of bringing the defendants back to their cells speaks up: "What a bore, here! At least in the Caucasus, there's some shooting!"

With Katia Swarovskaya (Moscow)