“Some days I want to shake people up” – Moscow correspondent takes stock Drugs and public safety: Italy passes law against illegal rave parties

It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon in Moscow. One of those friendly days, as there have been so many since Vladimir Putin launched his “military special operation” on February 24, terrorizing Ukraine day and night. Since then, nothing has changed in Moscow. At first sight. The city lives the life of a metropolis. Cars race, they honk, they get stuck in traffic. People rush somewhere, some run to the bus, others turn the corner around a busy cafe. The ships sail on the Moskva until the first ice floes stop them.

A normal life, you would have said before, when life was actually normal. Since February 24, Russia has been acting as if everything is normal. For some in the city, this is unbearable.

For example, for Rita. And hundreds of thousands of others who turn their backs on their homes. Who can’t stand it here anymore, who can’t find a job anymore, who take their children out of the country because they can’t stand the increasing indoctrination. Who do not want to be sent to the “meat grinder” in Ukraine, as they say, for ideas that are not their own. They are deprived of space to fight for their own ideas. Parliament works almost every day to tighten up laws.

Cautious approach: journalism in Russia

Some people flee saying, “This is not my country anymore” and suffer elsewhere because of this, their country. They leave hoping to return soon. But what is this “soon”? They do not know. Rita says, “I’ve made my decision and I’m not going to let that choice guide me.” She wants to go to Israel. Like more than 30,000 of their compatriots. 25,000 Russians of Jewish faith have become Israeli citizens in recent months. And so, on this Tuesday afternoon, the 38-year-old doctor stands between a few brownish bookcases. Coincidentally next to me.

I went to this bookstore to see if the books of authors who opposed this war had really disappeared from the shelves. I had read that in some Telegram channels. Had read that the works were labeled ‘foreign agent’, the books were wrapped in dark paper and you could hardly find the title of the book. In this shop, the country’s largest state bookstore, you can find everything: books by authors who support the war, not far from works by authors who strongly condemn the war. In between, there are fun new editions of «1984» and «We», a Soviet dystopian novel. It was the first book to be declared a banned novel in the Soviet Union.

I walk the aisles like Rita does. We stop at a small shelf. With Hebrew books. Before the war, I learned Hebrew from a Russian woman just because I was interested. We bypassed the politics and focused on the difference between Hebrew and Russian verbs. The war has also taken away his joy. Now I want to take what I’ve learned back outside, to myself at home, without the teacher.

However, the store shelf only has a few textbooks to offer. Rita gives me a piercing look. “Do you want to come too?” she asks. Before I can say anything, Rita is talking. This is extraordinary. Since Russia wants to destroy Ukraine, hardly anyone in Russia has spoken out openly and frankly. “War”, “special operation”, “the events”, “the overall situation”, “what is happening” – whatever words people choose, they choose them only if they know roughly how the other person feels about it. But because they usually don’t know, they don’t say anything. That makes journalism very difficult.

Years ago, even months ago, people, especially in the Russian countryside, loved to tell foreign journalists about their lives. They were downright proud to receive visitors from abroad, tell stories and sometimes teach. They hardly hesitated to talk about their grievances. “If our journalists don’t want to hear about it, at least tell them,” they often said. Many of them dreamed of a beautiful life. “Just like you in Europe,” they said. “Europe” or “European” were words that seemed to contain something magical. What are you dreaming of now?

Most have stopped. There is only one subject. There is only war and everything related to it: lack of money, lack of travel, lack of respect. A lot of pain. Hardly a future. Many do not want to talk about it. Some because they blame the West for everything that goes wrong in their country and think the West just doesn’t get it, so why say something again? The others, because it hurts them so much, because they are ashamed of the world, they feel helpless. And because they are afraid of getting into trouble with the state for pronouncing these words. Never in my journalistic life have I anonymized the interviewees as much as in the past ten months.

And I’ve never talked so much about myself. About my work, my life in Russia. Only when things are going well, people trust and talk. Since the beginning of the war, things have mostly gone badly. People leave you alone. They hang up again. They point out “trouble”, say they don’t talk to “the West”, some also shout “To hell with you traitors.”

When they talk, they justify themselves. Always throwing the same phrases at you. Clichés that come across the screen every day from the propagandists on state television: “We end wars, we don’t start wars. The West has always wanted to keep us small! Ukraine is to blame! We bring peace!” They joke that some Ukrainians today take their children to gas stations to hook them up to an inhaler. They say in a calm voice how stupid the Ukrainians must be when they drag generators into the basement. They do not mention why Ukrainians have to endure the dark cold.

A kind of limbo between anger and pity

Some days I want to shake people and scare myself, other days I calmly explain the nonsense they spout. Penetration is almost never possible. Many days I say nothing, turn around and leave. They have come to a lie that to them is the truth. Psychologists say that people protect themselves. Protected from shame, from cruelty, they split off to survive.

How can they live with such guilt? With such a responsibility? Sometimes I look at men, the ones who bring drinking water into the house, the ones who sit next to their children in a craft class on Sundays as I do next to my child, and I wonder if they won’t soon be called up. The mobilization is not officially over yet. They are terrifying thoughts. Yes, even thoughts of pity.

We, the representatives of “unfriendly states”

Go, stay, persevere? I too have been asking myself such questions these months. Every day. It’s like background noise in my head. The answer is: stay as long as possible. As long as this state lets me do the work I do here. He’s making it harder and harder. Even before the war, Western journalists were not popular with the authorities. Now the officials see us, “ghosts” in their eyes, as representatives of “unfriendly states”.

This will affect our stay. In the past we received an accreditation for one year from the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which formed the basis for a visa and therefore for a stay in Russia, now we receive this accreditation for three months at a time. Often only a few days before the old one expires. It’s a constant fear, every few weeks.

Traveling to and from Moscow is also made more difficult. There are no more direct flights to Europe. Any border crossing is inconvenient because the officer may ask questions. Questions like «What is your opinion on the ?special operation??», «What do you think of Ukraine?» It’s purely random. You never know what will happen with the answers, you stand at the border hoping to re-enter the country that has been a kind of home for years.

The loneliness in this house in Moscow is great because almost all friends – Russian and foreign – have left. Here I try to understand the nuances about today’s Russia. I would understand them even less if it were not for me. Enduring the dissonance of living in a war country that pretends not to be at war requires powers that day in and day out I didn’t think I possessed. Millions of people in Russia support this war. Many of them don’t question him. They send their sons to war and consider them heroes. They bury their bodies and say, “That’s life.” The resignation of many Russians to fate has always annoyed me. I can’t understand her now either.

Writing about Russia means writing only about the war. About a gruesome war of destruction that seems like a kind of distant game to many people in the country. Devastation continues. For decades to come. (bzbasel.ch)