Russian hacktivists are using CCTV networks to protest Putin

Photographer Kurt Caviezel doesn’t own a camera. At least, not in the traditional sense. He doesn’t see the need for one. “Why take pictures of what’s already been photographed?” he asks. For the Zürich-based artist, photography is the act of seeing and selecting. “I am a photographer, yes,” he affirms, before adding, “Well, an artist who works with photography – that’s me.”

For over two decades, Caviezel has been documenting the world not through a camera lens, but instead via the endless network of CCTV networks and webcams scattered across the globe, a project he calls Watching the World. Using publicly accessible surveillance systems and capturing them via simple screenshots, Caviezel has built an expansive, real-time archive of unfiltered images from around the world. His work redefines the notion of traditional photography, while challenging ideas of authenticity in an age of omnipresent cameras.

It’s best seen in Caviezel’s most provocative work, Putin’s Jail. Focusing on Russia’s network of cameras, the series blends the mundane with the radical, while exposing cracks in the country’s surveillance state. Grainy images of stairwells, snowy backyards, and industrial sites are suddenly interrupted by messages of resistance: Russian anti-war, pro-Ukraine, and anti-Putin slogans. In a supermarket, unsuspecting customers check out beneath a stark message written in Russian: “Putin is a criminal dictator, 16,000 Russian soldiers died! Russia Blocks Google News!” In a children’s canteen, kids eat their lunch under the words: “No war. Slava Ukraini.” These messages aren’t Caviezel’s additions, but the work of anonymous hackers who manipulate feeds to turn state surveillance into a tool of dissent.

The work spotlights a niche, microscopic-scaled form of resistance in Russia, given that very few people ever see CCTV screens. But in Russia, political dissent is often treated with severity, and has ramped up since launching its full scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and the introduction of wartime censorship laws. Meanwhile, according to Memorial, a group founded by human rights lawyer Grigory Vaypan, there are over 680 political prisoners in Russia. And that’s perhaps where the power lies, with the closed networks providing a low risk, difficult to trace canvas for rebellion.

For Caviezel, photography’s essence lies in being at the right place at the right time, a principle he describes while gesticulating with a pen in hand as if sketching the idea in the air. “With traditional photography, you must physically be in the right place with your camera at the right time,” he says, his movements emphasising the thought. “With surveillance cameras, the same rule applies, but differently. You need to find the right camera at the right moment. Maybe a bird or a cat passes by.” He pauses, letting the thought settle, before continuing. “This element of chance, it’s fascinating. It’s capturing moments you couldn’t create or even imagine yourself.”

As resistance unfolds, it is Caviezel’s voyeuristic all-seeing position in Putin’s Jail that makes the project such a moving, real time call to witness. “I don’t create the messages,” he clarifies. “I’m just the platform. Without my archive, this activism might go unseen. But even so, I don’t see myself as a political artist. My work isn’t about pushing a message. It’s about showing what’s already there.”

He continues: “The question is, how many people are actually watching these surveillance cameras? Maybe me, a few others, and that’s it. The messages aren’t reaching a broad audience directly. But once you collect and share these images, they can be brought to the public. It’s a way to inform people about what’s happening inside Russia.”

So what keeps him going after 25 years of relentless, everyday observation? Caviezel leans forwards slightly, his words both deliberate and animated. “The authenticity,” he says. “These images are created automatically. They force you to ask: who is the author? Me? The technician who set up the camera? These systems record genuine, uninfluenced human behavior. That’s what draws me in. It’s a paradox: being physically far away allows you to capture something more genuine.”

See more from Kurt Caviezel’s project Watching the World at his official website.

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