Russia’s dark web markets prove the drug war can’t be won

Puff-Puff (or Khapochka, meaning a short drag from a joint or a cigarette) is a young, beautiful (insofar as I can tell behind her mask) woman in her mid-twenties and, in her own words, “a drug courier from Russia, blogger and just an idol of millions.” She entered the drug trade as a side hustle while completing her studies and now blogs about her lifestyle on her Telegram channel, Courier in a Skirt, where she chats with fans and answers their questions. 

“To be honest, the idea [to start a blog] was given to me by one person on Telegram,” she told me. “I thought and realized that I really have something to tell people, and it’s also more about talking openly about that part of my life that you can’t discuss with family and friends. After all, it’s better to ask advice on how to best bake pot cookies in a chat of like-minded people, and not from your mother, right?”

Her job begins by collecting wholesale consignments from her anonymous paymasters, which she then weighs into smaller packages and hides around the city for their customers. 

“Two years ago I got a job in a new shop,” she recalled. “I was assigned a master stash, the product located somewhere in the forest not far from the main road. I calmly collected it and placed it inside a fake fire extinguisher, the type you can find on AliExpress. I was driving away as though nothing had happened when I saw a patrol car. They stopped me, checked my documents, then asked if I was carrying anything illegal. I said no, of course not, but they decided to inspect my car anyway. Naturally, they checked the boot, but didn’t touch the fire extinguisher. They wished me a pleasant trip and let me be on my way.”  

Just like the United States, Russia has been waging a war on drugs. In certain prison camps, up to 80% of residents are confined under Article 228 of the Criminal Code – which bans certain narcotics – nicknamed “the peoples’ statute,” as more citizens are incarcerated for it than any other, many serving over ten year stints for first-time offenses. Prison conditions are tough; torture is rife. And yet, over 10,000 Russians keep dying from drug overdoses each year, a toll which has more than doubled since 2019. 

This failure to cope lies partly with the changing nature of the drug market itself. A new report by the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime, for which I acted as a researcher, explores this new underworld, which may give us a clue for where the worldwide drug scene is headed next.

Buying dope in Russia was like anywhere else in the ‘90s and 2000s. You’d have to visit a certain area (Roma gypsy villages stood in for “the hood” with their open-air drug bazaars) to score, or ask a friend — who may or may not be working with the cops to get the law off their back. Like their American counterparts, Russian police operate on a system of quotas, and to meet those demands a common tactic was to catch a low-level seller or user, then put the squeeze on them till they turn in their buddies. They, in turn, sell out their supplier until, sooner or later, everyone’s working for The Man. You never knew if you’re being set up for a sting.

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Now everything’s gone digital. While selling drugs online is far from new — in fact, the very first thing bought and sold on the Internet was a bag of weed — no nation has so wholeheartedly embraced e-shopping for their preferred pick-me-ups as the Russians. The U.S. government estimates that in 2021, 80% of cryptocurrency transactions across the whole dark web took place through Hydra, Russia’s then-reigning cyber-cartel. 

Much of Hydra’s interface would have looked familiar to anyone who’s used the dark web marketplace Silk Road or its myriad knock-off clones: you can glance through the forums and customer reviews to check which pills and powders will rock your socks off and which will leave you feeling worse than Uma Thurman in “Pulp Fiction.”

But what made Hydra unique was not only its monopoly but also its distribution system, which revolved around stashing gear in out-of-the-way hiding spots like a coke-dealing Easter Bunny — or Puff-Puff.

“In other countries, illegal online drug markets employ the post to send drugs. In Russia, the post is extremely slow and unreliable, so local dealers came up with a new and more efficient way of distribution,” explained sociologist Alex Knorre.

“It is extremely easy,” Knorre continued. “You can order online anytime, chances are good you have many available drugs in your city, and you can pay for it using a credit card or QIWI [a common ATM-like way to send cash]. You receive the coordinates to pick up the package soon after the payment – and just collect it somewhere.”

The dark web thus removed the need to consort with Addidas-wearing gopniks (thugs.) Plug not picking up their phone? No problem — anyone with a laptop and a wi-fi connection could buy or sell. The anonymity of everyone involved was guaranteed by the encrypted TOR browser. Developed by the U.S. Navy to protect their comms, the browser’s code was made public in the mid-2000s and TOR became a nonprofit aimed at helping activists in authoritarian regimes bypass the censors. It also enabled the darknet and all its hackers, pedophiles and drug dealers.

Russia is the second-largest country in the world by TOR usage, accounting for 15% of all traffic. While the Kremlin has tried blocking the service, results have been mixed at best — and nowadays TOR is less necessary, as there are plenty of mirrors on the clear web. Between dead drops and TOR, this meant unlike traditional drug rings, no one actually has to meet face-to-face, shielding the operation from undercovers, turncoats and stool pigeons. 

Then there’s changing tastes. Since the late ‘80s, the favorite forbidden stupefiant of Russians had long been heroin, which arrived from Afghanistan via the mountainous, impoverished Central Asian land of Tajikistan, a smuggling route overseen by organized crime and corrupt security chiefs. As the Taliban cracks down on the industry, this market threatens to be replaced by synthetics in Europe, risking a fentanyl crisis like the U.S. is currently straining under.

While opioids are still abundant for now, they’ve been overtaken in popularity by synthetic stimulants; chiefly mephedrone, a speedy cathinone cooked in clandestine labs with raw materials sourced from China. Hydra played no small part in this trend, selling DIY drug-making kits.

A similar phenomenon is unfolding in America as well. A recent Reuters investigation demonstrated how easy it is to purchase enough precursors — the chemicals used to make synthetics – to produce three million fentanyl tablets, sourced online from unscrupulous Chinese companies for a mere $3,600 worth of Bitcoin. The packages smoothly evaded customs and were delivered straight to mailboxes in New York, New Jersey and Mexico City. Although the Reuters reporters disposed of the fentanyl precursors, it’s not difficult to combine them using a simplified synthesis known as the Gupta method, which one Mexican narco described being as easy as “making chicken soup.”

This is just one of innumerous examples of how synthetics are the wave of the future: anyone cyber-savvy enough can acquire the equipment and ingredients, which are easier to hide and can better withstand the local weather than a coca crop or a poppy plantation, effectively democratizing the drug trade away from Mafia-esque syndicates. 

The more a nation invests in border security, the more attractive it becomes to traffickers, because greater risks entail greater rewards. But small-time producers already situated within a country’s borders can saturate the market. Consider cocaine, which retailed on Hydra for nearly $100 a gram, versus mephedrone, costing a measly 13 bucks. If law enforcement’s goal is to discourage consumption by forcing dealers to raise their prices, they’re falling far behind.

Clamping down on precursors is a game of Whac-A-Mole. Should precursors be banned (already a tricky proposition since they’re commonly used for legit products like perfume), Chinese manufacturers will sell pre-precursors: even more obscure, unregulated chemicals. And if Beijing cleans up its chemical industry, the business may simply move to India, where corruption can be even more endemic, or perhaps another country.

All the above isn’t to say that there haven’t been (pyrrhic) victories. In April 2022, the German federal police, acting on information from their American colleagues, seized the servers hosting Hydra, replacing its banner with their logo and retrieving $25 million in Bitcoin. There was a momentary confusion. At first, buyers hoped the platform would be resurrected and reappear in some form. New platforms could be scammers or police stings. Hand-to-hand sales enjoyed a brief revival, but more so in small towns and rural areas. Customers missed the convenience and stability of Hydra. 

Then, gradually, replacements began arising, with names like MEGA, WayAway, OMG!, Solaris, BlackSprut and Kraken — many of which were staffed by veterans of Hydra. A digital turf war erupted over Hydra’s displaced clientele. Unlike the drug war in Mexico, however, there were no headless corpses hanging off bridges. Instead, battles were fought with hackers, data breaches and server shutdowns.

So that’s an improvement, at least. If only more teardrop-tattooed cartel enforcers knew how to code. But fundamentally, the crux of the problem persists. The Kremlin and the White House rarely see eye-to-eye, but for now, both uphold the status quo of the war on drugs. 

“[Legalization] will happen when people stop drinking vodka,” Puff-Puff weighed in. "In the meantime, this is not financially profitable for those who manage everything. It would be enough to decriminalize marijuana or abolish laws that imprison people for ten years for six grams of buds. But these are political things that I try not to get involved in.”