A Times reporter reflects on a conversation with Navalny, an unusual Russian politician.

Sitting in the warren of rooms in a hipster brick office building in Moscow where Aleksei A. Navalny led both his political movement and his anti-corruption organization, I asked him about his run for president in 2024.

In the spring of 2017, there had been a series of small but widespread anti-corruption protests across Russia, prompted by his investigations that uncovered the vast wealth that Dmitry A. Medvedev, the prime minister and former president, had amassed. Although his supporters hoped that Navalny could run for president in 2018, one told me he thought 2024 was more likely.

Mr. Navalny shook his head. “When I hear a question like that, I think of the President of the Republic of Zimbabwe,” he began.

The African leader had been in power for 35 years, and Mr. Navalny said he could imagine President Vladimir V. Putin sticking around not just until 2024, but until 2044, with his approval rating still stuck at 84 percent and his body was largely bionic.

“We have to think about what to do next,” he said. “I don't agree with these rulers. They make life in Russia worse. They are moving the country in the wrong direction.”

It was a typical Navalny response: smart, witty, irreverent, prescient and somewhat unexpected. He seemed to embody the idea that Russia would be a more relaxed place if he ever became president.

Naturally, he used his response to immediately address his favorite theme: criticizing Putin's authoritarian grip on power. (Mr. Putin later changed the constitution to allow him to remain in office until 2036.) Russian politicians generally don't like to joke, let alone compare their faded empire to a small African dictatorship.

Mr Navalny was approachable and preferred to speak Russian rather than English, which he had improved and became fluent in. He usually dressed casually but neatly, in clean jeans and a pressed cotton shirt. He stayed fit.

At the time of that interview, he was happy that his YouTube live broadcasts were catching on. He had opinions on politics and answered viewer questions submitted via social media. As I watched him get ready, he looked shocked for a moment because he thought he had missed the queue and the broadcast had started. He joked easily with his staff.

“It's always nerve-wracking,” said a man who seemed to fear nothing in his public roles. That day, Mr. Navalny was scheduled to discuss the allegations of corruption swirling around Alisher Usmanov, a billionaire oligarch close to the Kremlin.

The sound engineer asked him for a voice check.

“12345. Alisher Usmanov is bad,” he said.