Sergey Abashin: Reading about Migrant Workers

Central Asian migrant workers queueing to obtain work “patents” at the Russian Interior Ministry’s migrant workers processing center on Red Textile Worker Street in central Petersburg, March 10, 2017. Photo by TRR

Sergey Abashin
Facebook
March 19, 2017

Very few people are interested in reading about migrant workers in Russia. True, many people readily believe the myths and repeat them, but they don’t want to get to the bottom of things, even if you hand them the data on a silver platter. This apathetic attitude to figures and facts is also typical of how migration is regarded.

I wrote yesterday [see below] about the trends in the numbers of migrant workers from the Central Asian countries in Russia for 2014–2016. Let me remind you that the number of Kyrgyz nationals first fell and then began to grow, exceeding the previous highs by 10%. The figure is now about 0.6 million people. (I am rounding up). The number of Tajik nationals has decreased by 15–25% and has been at the same level, about 0.9 million people, for over a year, while the number of Uzbek nationals has decreased by 30–40%, to 1.5 million people.

Now let us look at the data on remittances, all the more since the Central Bank of Russia has published the final figures for 2016. In 2016, private remittances from Russia to Kyrgyzstan amounted to slightly more than $1.7 billion, which is 17% less than during the peak year of 2013, but 26% more than in 2015. Meaning that, along with an increase in the number of migrants, the amount of remittances has grown quickly as well, even at a faster pace. Remittances to Tajikistan amounted to slightly more than $1.9 billion in 2016, which is 54% less than the peak year of 2013. The amounts have been continuing to fall, although this drop has slowed as the number of migrant workers has stabilized. Remittances to Uzbekistan were slightly more than $2.7 billion in 2016, which is 59% less than in the peak year of 2013. Meaning the largest drop in the number of migrants has led to the largest drop in remittances.

*****

Sergey Abashin
Facebook
March 18, 2017

Data on the number of foreign nationals living and working in Russia has not been made public since April 2016, when the Federal Migration Service was disbanded. But this does not mean there is no such data. The figures exist, and they become available from time to time. For example, an article published in RBC [on March 16, 2017] supplies some data as of February 1, 2017. What follows from the figures?

The number of Kyrgyz nationals has increased since February 2016 by 5.6%, and since February 2015 by 8.9%, and amounts to 593,760 people.

The number of Tajik nationals increased by 0.7% over the past year, and by 13.3% over two years, and amounts to 866,679 people.

The number of Uzbek nationals has decreased over the past year by 15.2%, and by 31.7% over two years, and now amounts to 1,513,694 people.

So we see three different trends. After Kyrgyzstan joined the Eurasian Economic Community [now, the Eurasian Economic Union], the number of its nationals in Russia has continued to grown. After a decline of 15–20%, the number of Tajik nationals has stabilized, while the number of Uzbek nationals has fallen by 30–40%.

There are slightly less than a total of 3 million people from Central Asia living and working in Russia. (I did not take Turkmenistan and Kazakhstan into account. If I had, the figure would have come to about 3.6 million people.)

Sergey Abashin, who teaches at the European University in St. Petersburg, has been a frequent contributor to this website. Translation and photo by the Russian Reader.

Russia’s Economic Performance: Fudging the Stats

“The Country’s Leaders Are Relying on Erroneous Economic Data”
Economist Grigory Hanin Explains How the Official Figures Are Deceiving 
Alexander Trushin
Ogonyok
February 11, 2017

The article “Russia Cannot Be Understand by Labor” (Ogonyok 3, 2017), which dealt with low workforce productivity in Russia, struck a huge chord with readers. Serious academics responded to it, including Grigory Hanin, a professor at RANEPA’s Siberian Institute of Management, and Dmitry Fomin, an assistant professor at the Novosibirsk State University of Economics and Management. They are convinced the official figures on which both government agencies and the authors of the above-mentioned article rely do not jibe with reality.

We quote the letter they sent to us:

“Your magazine has been promptly sounding the alarm as to Russia’s lagging behind in terms of workforce productivity. Your focus on the obsolescence of Russia’s production facilities is also justified. But the stance adopted by the authors is weakened when they rely on figures from Rosstat, which embellish the real state of the economy, as the Soviet Central Statistical Directorate (TsSU) used to do. We have produced alternative estimates of macroeconomic indicators for the Soviet Union since the early 1970s and now for the Russian Federation, based on a number of more reliable figures from Soviet and Russian statistics. We have been able to refine Rosstat’s estimates. The gap in workforce productivity between Russia and the developed countries is greatly underestimated in the article. If instead of the quite dubious cost data cited there, you use the genuine data, you find a gap of five to seven times or more, sometime as much as ten times.

“The authors have greatly underestimated the deterioration of physical capital. We have made alternative estimates of the depreciation of fixed assets in the Russian Federation from 1991 to 2015, taking into account the real value of fixed capital during this period and the preceding Soviet period. The estimates have shown that the depreciation of fixed capital amounted to 64.4% in 2015, rather than the 49.4% indicated by Rosstat. […] For a better understanding of our country’s problems with regard to the depreciation of physical capital, we should factor in the depreciation of human capital, the disastrous decline in education from the 1970s to the present. The objective of navigating a way out oof Russia’s backwardness in terms of workforce productivity is extremly complex, requiring colossal efforts and sacrifices from the entire society[.]”

Ogonyok asked one of the letter’s authors, Grigory Hanin, to explain what was wrong with the statistics cited by everyone from government agencies to ordinary people.

What is the difference between the official figures and your estimates of Russia’s macroeconomic indicators?

According to the longitudinal research Dmitry Fomin and I have been doing, Russia’s GDP has not grown by 13.4% from 1992 to 2015, as Rosstat claims, but has decreased by 10.2%. During the same period, Russia’s workforce productivity has fallen by 30.1% instead of having grown by 9.2%, as the official figures claim. Basic fixed assets (buildings and plant, machinery, machine tools, and other assets involved in production) have decreased by 29.2% in terms of their full book value, although the official figures claim they have increased by 50.9%.

How do you explain this discrepancy?

The official figures deal with basic fixed assets incorrectly. We are talking about physical capital, a vital economic resource. Along with human capital, it defines the level of economic development and shapes GDP’s performance and value and other macroeconomic indicators. No other indicator has been distorted as much in statistics in the Soviet Union and Russia as this one. It is a fairly complicated indicator. Many countries have problems with it, even the World Bank, which does its estimates based on the official data submitted by each country, including Rosstat.

How important is the erroneous estimate of fixed assets?

First of all, when there is inflation, which there has almost always been in the Soviet Union and Russian Federation, the underestimation of fixed assets has always led to exaggerating their performance, since old and new assets are valued in terms of different rubles: old assets in terms oof expensive rubles, and new assets in terms of cheap rubles. All of this impacts the underestimation of the value of depreciation and production costs. Consequently, profits are exaggerated.

Meaning, we cannot get a fix on the real state of the Russian economy?

It’s a problem that has been dragging on since the late 1920s, when assets were, according to my calculations, undervalued by almost half. Consequently, resources spent on refurbishing the assets were not take into account, nor was the increase in production costs. In the 1930s and 1940s, the underestimation continued to grown, despite reevaluations in certain sectors. Only in 1960 was a general reevaluation of fixed assets carried out, but it was chockablock with mistakes. Afterwards, due to ongoing inflation, the error in calculating the value of fixed assets continued to grow. By the late 1980s, it had grown by four and a half times. By 2015, the fixed assets were underestimated by 7.3 times, according to our calculations.

In the Soviet economy, all cost data that reflected productivity and national income growth, including the value of fixed assets, were distorted. Soviet production figures given in physical terms (tons, units, etc.) can be considered more or less reliable, because the central planning process was based on them.

But the problem persisted when we switched to a market economy in the 1990s?

In the early 1990s, Russian statistics switched to international standards. We seemingly had rid ourselves of the shortcomings of Soviet statistics, but new ones emerged. Several attempts were made in the 1990s to reevaluate fixed assets, but the official figures on the trends in fixed assets still turned out wrong.

What is your estimate of the scale of the disaster?

It was only this year we finished a full year-by-year estimate of the performance of fixed assets from 1991 to 2015. I have to confess the outcome was surprising. I should emphasize from the outset that our calculation does not claim to be totally precise. (There is no such animal in macroeconomic statistics.) But we are confident of its objectivity. So, the volume of fixed assets in terms of depreciation had decreased approximately twofold by 2015 compared to 1991. [This figure differs from the total book value, which is based on the original cost of the assets, to which upgrading costs have been added — Ogonyok.] This is much more than the damage incurred by the Great Patriotic War [i.e., WWII]. The decrease then amounted to 33.5%. Here is another figure. The Russian economy has lost a total of 422.5 trillion rubles in fixed assets, taking into account their depreciation over the last 25 years. This sum is equal to Russia’s GDP for the last five years. The reduction of fixed assets has occurred because capital investment during the post-Soviet period has been less than the scale of asset retirement. Rosstat, however, does not take this into account attempting to persuade us the reverse is true: that physical capital has increased by 51% since 1991. This radically alters how we evaluate the economy’s profitability, because it dramatically increases the costs of depreciating fixed assets. According to our estimates, in the early 2000s, their overestimation led to huge losses for the major manufacturing industries, while the commercial services sectors were highly profitable. Guided by official data on income, however, the tax authorities collected taxes mainly from the loss-making manufacturing sectors, thus exacerbating their financial difficulties, while exacting a minimum of taxes from the service industries.

How does the Russian economy look nowadays?

Let’s begin with the fact that half the fixed assets are left. I should note they are used better now in certain industries where the market economy has had a positive effect. The greatest reduction of fixed assets has occurred in manufacturing, but they have grown in the commercial services sector. At the same time, we have two industries that were almost wholly revived by foreign capital, beer brewing and confectioneries manufacturing. The services sector has increased almost twofold in Russia since 1991. This applies to the private sector of the economy: retail and wholesale trading, food services, hotel management and tourism, vehicle maintenance, private medical care, communications, public information services, and so on. In the public services sector—public healthcare, science and education, sport and physical education, housing and public utilities, the public road system—fixed assets have declined, but not as much as in industry. In Soviet times, there was a disproportion: an emphasis on heavy industry alongside underdeveloped service and consumer sectors. Now we see the hypetrophied growth of commercial services and the underdevelopment of the economy’s investment sector.

How has GDP’s performance fluctuated during this period, according to your calculations?

We have still not reached the level of 1991 in comparable prices, whereas Rosstat shows a surplus of 13%. However, in the 1990s, Rosstat even undervalued the drop in GDP a bit, because it gave insufficient weight to the gray economy. GDP was greater in the 1990s than Rosstat has claimed. On the other hand, from 1998 to 2007, the official figures greatly exaggerated the growth in GDP: 82%. According to our figures, growth amounted to only 48%. The upsurge in the early noughties, aside from a rise in the oil price, was due to the use of the reserve production capacity and manpower that had formed in the 1990s. By 2007, however, these growth opportunities had been tapped out. Stagnation and then a decline in economic growth inevitably had to set in. Which was what happened.

And things are also not kosher with the official inflation estimates?

Exactly. The underestimation of inflation levels is determined, albeit roughly, by the difference between Rosstat’s GDP performance stats and ours. This difference amounts annually to around two percentage points. Instead of 5% per year, say, it amounts to 7%.

Why do we need to calculate inflation accurately?

It affects social spending by the state: pensions, benefits, and all other payments that the state should index for inflation. And besides, there are the state’s investment costs, which have to account for inflation. But if accurate figures do not exist, then there is not enough money for new projects, which happens quite often.

Have foreign experts provided more accurate assessments of the state of the Russian economy?

No, they have all been mistaken, because they used Rosstat’s figures for their estimates. In the 1990s, they thought that since Rosstat had switched to international standards, they would not need to recalculate anything. On the other hand, the World Bank monitors two hundred countries, and it is simply physically incapable of recalculating the data for every country’s economy.

You have claimed that workforce productivity in Russian is lower than in developed countries, by five to seven times, or even ten times. What is the basis for these estimates?

There are two types of economists: macroeconomists and industrial economists. And there are methods of estimating workforce productivity. The first focus on price indicators, while the second focus on non-monetary indicators. The first calculation is often wrong due to the dubiousness of the ruble-to-dollar conversion factors. But you can use non-monetary indicators for certain industries, and then you obtain different outcomes. For example, petroleum production. Divide the volume of production by the number of people employed in the industry, and you get output per worker. You can do the same thing with metallurgy, machine building, agriculture, and all industries, and then compare them with other countries. That was how we got the outcome about which we wrote to you. The estimate was derived from numerous Russian industry publications.

How do you assess the state of human capital in Russia?

We suffered huge demographic losses in the twentieth century through wars, purges, famine, emigration. According to my estimates, we lost between 70 and 80 million people. Moreover, the losses affected the intellectual segment of the populace more: such people were more likely to die in wars and more likely to emigrate. Three of the four living Russian Nobel Prize winners work abroad. Add to that the degradation of secondary and higher education that has been observed since the 1970s. Plus the stupefaction of the populace by the media, especially the electronic media. I go to our library in Novosibirsk, one of the largest libraries in Russia. The reading roooms are nearly empty: there are more librarians there than readers. Recently, I visited the Bavarian State Library. Tears welled up in my eyes. I saw an enormous reading room, nearly a kilometer long, chockablock with people. If you go into our main bookstore in Novosibirsk you’ll find ten to fifteen shoppers, while in Munich they have a seven-storey bookstore. There are something like two hundred people people browsing the shelves, picking out books, sitting on couches, sipping coffee, and chatting.

Can we bridge the gap with the developed countries?

Bridging the gap is unthinkable. Imagine you are standing at the starting line, and your competitors have taken off and have a five-kilometer headstart on you. The government relies on erroneous economic data and underestimates the depth of problems. The illusion is generated that economic recovery is possible without serious costs. We have estimated that, in terms of 2015 prices, 14.6 trillion rubles in investments would be required to maintain fixed assets and grow them by 3%. Plus, we would need 900 billion rubles for working capital. To develop human capital—education, healthcare, research—we would have to invest 10.3 trillion rubles. This would amount to 25.8 trillion rubles a year, which is a third of Russia’s annual GDP.

And nothing can be done?

It’s possible to narrow the gap. To do this, we would have to redistribute incomes to physical and human capital, and to the neediest segments of the populace. But even that would require enormous efforts. We could, for example, redistribute incomes to narrow the social differentiation among decile groups from the current ratio of 30:1 to 6:1, that is, the figure that exists in most Western European countries. But this would all take many years to accomplish.

***

Ogonyok asked Rosstat to comment on the divergence in key economic development indicators for Russia. We are waiting for a response to this request.

Business Card

An  Economist with a Stance

Grigory Hanin finished graduate school at the Leningrad Finance and Economic Institute in 1962, and then worked at Novosibirsk State University. In 1968, he successfully defended his candidate’s dissertation, but the Higher Attestation Commission (VAK) refused to approve it due to its “market-based approach.” In 1972, Hanin was dismissed from the university for his dissenting views on the economy, which were, allegedly, “negatively affecting” students in the economics department. Hanin could not be expelled from academics, however. He successfully defended his candidate’s dissertation at the Institute of World Economy and International Relations of the Russian Academy of Sciences (IMEMO RAN), and then his doctor’s dissertation at the Central Economic and Mathematical Institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences (TsEMI RAN). Hanin did research on alternative macroeconomic estimates of the Soviet economy. In 1987, Hanin and journalist Vasily Selyunin published the famous article “Tricky Numbers” in the journal Novy Mir, causing a huge public outcry. Hanin is currently a professor at RANEPA’s Siberian Institute of Management, where he researches recent Russian economic history.

The Numbers

A Big Difference

How official and alternative estimates of Russia’s macroeconomic performance vary

Rosstat’s figures Alternative estimates
GDP* 113.4% 89.8%
Productivity* 109.2% 69.9%
Inflation** 5.38% 7.38%

* In 2015, relative to 1991

** In 2016

Translated by the Russian Reader. Thanks to Sergey Shpilkin for the heads-up

Kotlas: Russia’s Bankruptcy Capital

A City of Bankrupts
Vladimir Ruvinsky
Kommersant Dengi
November 28, 2016

Kotlas, a district center in Arkhangelsk Region, will be one hundred years old in 2017. During the first half of the twentieth century, it was one of the main transit centers for political prisoners, but nowadays it is the capital of individual bankruptcies. There is no work in the city, which over the past ten years has become a local consumer’s paradise, and every fourth resident is up to their ears in debt.

In 2012, Kotlas resident Tatyana and her entire family, including her husband, daughter, and brother, took out a total of five million rubles in loans from banks. She asked we not reveal her surname, since her husband is unaware their daughter also took out a loan. As Tatyana says, they took out the loans not for themselves, but for a friend.

“I worked for two female entrepreneurs who sold clothing. We had known each other for something like twenty years. We would visit each other’s homes, go to each other’s birthday parties, and attend the weddings of each other’s children,” Tatyana recalls. “One of them, in fact, asked me to take out the loans because otherwise, she said, they would have to borrow at an interest rate of eight percent on the black market.”

Tatyana borrowed 1.7 million rubles at Trust, Tinkoff Bank, Home Credit, and OTP Bank.

“I worked for my friends selling luxury clothing. The turnover was good so I was not particularly afraid,” she explains.

Soon afterwards, her friends persuaded to take out additional loans for them. Her husband, daughter, and brother agreed to do this, borrowing 900,000 rubles, 1.8 million rubles, and 700,000 rubles, respectively. The deal was based on trust. Tatyana’s family handed the loan agreements over to the female entrepreneurs, and they paid back the loans themselves. This went on for two years.

“In 2014, the police came and searched our workplace. It turned out the women had been running something like a pyramid. They had been borrowing money on paper to purchase goods. They had not been buying anything, however, but had been cashing out the loans,” say Tatyana. “That is how we got in trouble, although we had not taken out the loans for ourselves.”

The banks demanded repayment of the loans. At first, Tatyana admits, she felt like hanging herself.

“But that is no solution. A woman I know hung herself over a loan. Someone shot himself. Well, if I hung myself, the debt would have been passed on to my relatives. So I got up and went to work.” Continue reading “Kotlas: Russia’s Bankruptcy Capital”

Facebook Is Fun! (Islamophobia in Russia)

Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa, 1818-1819. Oil on canvas, 491 cm x 716 cm. Louvre Museum, Paris. Image courtesy of Wikipedia
Théodore Géricault, The Raft of the Medusa, 1818-1819. Oil on canvas, 491 cm x 716 cm. Louvre Museum, Paris. Image courtesy of Wikipedia

My memories of kindergarten are fairly fuzzy by now, but I do seem to recall we did a lot of sharing. This, I think, explains why the dark satanic mill known as Facebook has become so indispensable and popular in our modern world. Like kindergarten, it’s all about sharing.

For instance, this morning I was feeling fairly glum about the ongoing slaughter in Aleppo, the apparently total indifference my Russian friends (and “friends”) feel about the role their armed forces have been playing in this massacre, and my inability to do anything about any of this, much less changing anyone’s mind.

Apparently, Facebook even has algorithms for detecting when you’re feeling blue, and like a cheery kindergarten minder in such circumstances, it gets you involved in some fun sharing to buck you up.

This was what Facebook decided to share with woebegone me this morning.

shared

“At Venice Film Festival, Sokurov Says European and Muslim Aesthetics Incompatible,” reads the headline on Newsru.com, an alarmist Russophone news website based in Israel.

When I clicked on it, the item turned out to be old news, an article, dated September 8, 2015, quoting controversial statements made at last year’s Venice Film Festival by the Petersburg auteur Alexander Sokurov, who was in Venice to debut his latest indisputable masterpiece, Francofonia.

Presenting his film Francofonia at the Venice Film Festival, Russian filmmaker Alexander Sokurov said the European and Muslim aesthetics were incompatible. Calling for an end to “the endless and pointless incursions,” to immigration by an alien culture, Sokurov thus polemicized with the chair of the festival jury, Mexican filmmaker Alfonso Cuarón, who earlier had suggested solving Europe’s rampant immigration crisis by organizing entry for the immigrants. The Italian newspaper Corriere della Serra reported on Francofonia and Sokurov’s statements.

Presenting what the newspaper called “a brilliant allegorical tale about the Old Continent through its museum symbol, the Louvre,” Sokurov said, “History teaches us nothing. Prudence and compassion are alien to history.”

“Europe, which has attained supreme achievements in art and philosophy, keeps making one mistake after another,” said the Russian maître, as quoted by InoPressa.

“What is happening, these endless and pointless incursions [or, invasions], seem like an indescribable nightmare, a humanitarian catastrophe in the face of which ordinary people are powerless, and politicians do nothing. And no one thinks to protect our culture, which will cease to exist quite soon,” the filmmaker continued.

[…]

The Italian periodical described the action of the film as follows: a ship that must bring European culture to a safe haven sails into a storm. If it sinks, its precious cargo will be irrevocably lost to all Europeans.

“Europe finds itself on The Raft of the Medusa, as in the famous painting by Théodore Géricault, exhibited in the Louvre. Just like the frightening boats, crowded with desperate people making their way to our shores.”

The article here refers to the numerous cases of the illegal delivery [sic] by sea (sometimes ending in tremendous loss of life) of thousands of immigrants from the Middle East and North Africa.

During the presentation of his film, Sokurov called for “a stop to these migrations.”

“To really help these people, it is necessary to intervene in the countries from which they are escaping and try to solve the problems there. Instead, we pile them up together here, where they have no prospects, and try and impose our TV lifestyle on them,” he argued.

“The outcome will be catastrophic for both parties,” the filmmaker warned.

Sokurov was certain that “our aesthetic and the Muslim aesthetic are incompatible.”

“With all due respect, we must maintain a distance and protect our culture from the iconoclastic fury that is destroying it,” said the filmmaker.

He reminded the audience of the total destruction of unique landmarks in the ancient city of Palmyra, Syria, by militants from the terrorist group Islamic State, which is banned in the Russian Federation.

Recently, the extremists blew up three tombs of local patricians in the captured city. Earlier, they demolished the Temple of Baalshamin (2nd century BC) and the Temple of Bel, consecrated to the supreme Semitic deity [sic].

“Even the Nazis would have not dared to do what has happened in Palmyra,” said Sokurov.

I have quoted at length the day brightener Facebook chose for me, because it amply demonstrates a sad but irrefutable fact. Islamophobia is a perfectly common attitude and a perfectly respectable political “stance” in Russia, adopted and bruited loudly and publicly by well-read, highly educated members of the “liberal” Russian intelligentsia, as evinced here by one of their darlings, Alexander Sokurov.

This, in turn, explains the near-total silence of “liberal” and even “leftist” Russians on the destruction of Aleppo.

Let me put it as crudely as possible. Despite the court judgement handed down on popular blogger Anton Nosik the other day, a really large number of educated “white” Russians think Muslims are subhumans whom, if push comes to shove or your “civilizational project” has got bogged down and you cannot think of anything better to do, can be slaughtered with impunity and without blinking. In fact, it is better for one’s digestion, state of mind, and personal pursuit of high culture (per Sokurov) to put a mental wall between yourself and whatever is happening to the Muslims in your midst, or to the Muslim Crimean Tatars in Crimea, or to the Muslims in Grozny (back in the first years of Putin’s perpetual reign), or to the Muslims in Aleppo.

If you think I am exaggerating, I invite you to come to the Motherland and have heart-to-heart chats with a sampling of members of the so-called intelligentsia. In some cases (but not, happily, all cases) you will come away thinking you’ve just spent time with Trump supporters, UKIP cacklers, BNP bruisers or clowns from the KKK.

But the funny thing about Facebook is that it is not the only satanic mill on the oppressively vast World Wide Web. Nowadays, you can also ask something called Google whatever question your wicked heart can conceive—for example, how many Muslims are there in Russia?

“In Europe overall, however, Russia’s population of 14 million Muslims (10%) is the largest on the continent.”

Yikes!

Where did all those Russian Muslims come from? Did they immigrate to the Motherland from Syria and other majority Muslim countries?

No, despite the recent heavy influx of migrant workers from the Muslim Central Asian republics (once also part of Russia, in its guise as the Soviet Union), which has even more recently been waning due to the bad economy, among other factors, most of Russia’s Muslims were born and bred in the Russian Federation. Thus, to the outside world, they are “Russians,” if not to many of their fellow Russian citizens, who probably cannot get their heavily bookish heads around such funny facts as Moscow’s being the largest Muslim city in Europe.

You would think that, with so many Russian Muslims and post-Soviet Muslims sharing (there is our keyword again!) your cities, towns, and villages with you, you would not want to go out of your way to antagonize Muslims for no reason at all.

(Not because they are touchier than your average bear, but just because no one in this world enjoys being kicked around for years on end just because they’re different.)

But that is what the Russian government has been doing in Syria, and that is what significant numbers of Russia’s best and brightest have been doing for a long time now, if only rhetorically, if only at the Venice Film Festival, on Facebook or in their kitchens.

The consequences, both now and in the future, could not be more miserable, especially for the alleged “European” culture that only Russian intelligenty and European neo-Nazis seem to get so exercised about.

Thanks, Facebook, for cheering me up! I knew I could count on you. TRR

Slugfest for the Motherland

slugfest

А “mixed martial arts” fight between eight-, nine-, and ten-year-olds never hurt anyone.

We beat the hell out of each other in the schoolyard, although it wasn’t televised, sadly.

Later, some of us grew up to be policemen or joined the armed forces. Meaning, some of us grew up to be people who do important work in our country by keeping the inferior races down, with a couple of dozen pistol shots to head and chest, if necessary, or traveling to foreign countries to kill their people by the thousands and tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands because they had the misfortune of being born in the wrong place at the wrong time, although they never harmed a hair on any of our curly imperial heads.

Kadyrov has the right idea. He is training his own children and Chechnya’s children for the day when he and his army of Russian patriots will have to descend on the metropole and rip the empire’s “fifth column” and “national traitors” limb from limb.

And he is broadcasting it on TV so that all these enemies and traitors can see he and his people are getting ready to come after them.

Only a person completely off their rocks would call this “stability.”

For the last seventeen years, Putin has been concocting a Vesuvius-like social, economic, and political volcano that will soon blow up in everyone’s face. Worldwide. The people of Aleppo have already been hit by future seismic aftershocks from this belated volcanic explosion. Who will be next? 

Kadyrov Children’s Televised MMA Bouts Prompt Criticism In Russia
RFE/RL
October 6, 2016

Russia’s ombudswoman for the rights of children says she has sent an official query to the children’s ombudsman in the North Caucasus region of Chechnya after state television broadcast mixed martial arts (MMA) fights between children.

Anna Kuznetsova made the announcement on October 6, two days after three sons, all aged between 8 and 10, of Chechnya’s Moscow-backed leader Ramzan Kadyrov won their fights in the cage during a so-called exhibition bout in Grozny.

Ten-year-old Akhmad beat another boy by a technical knockout.

Meanwhile, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said, “If all of this is true, then probably a live broadcast of a child’s knockout is the reason for the proper supervisory authorities to closely look into this matter.”

The chairman of Russia’s MMA Union, Fyodor Yemelyanenko earlier called the fights “unacceptable,” saying the children risked permanent injury and psychological harm.

Yemelyanenko said children under the age of 12 should not be allowed to take part in any MMA fights and that anyone under the age of 21 must wear a helmet and protective gear, which was not the case in the fights involving Kadyrov’s sons.

He also expressed concerns that the children’s fight was shown on state television.

Kadyrov posted a video of the bouts on his own Instagram account.

Kadyrov’s cousin Adam Delimkhanov, who is a Russian lawmaker, lambasted Yemelyanenko for the criticism, calling him “a coward.”

“Whoever the man is, he will have to be accountable for every word he uttered regarding my dear nephews,” Delimkhanov wrote on Instagram on October 6.

Kadyrov was inaugurated on October 5, his 40th birthday, to a new term as Chechnya’s leader.

Thanks to Dmitry Kalugin for the heads-up 

But What Does the Proletariat Have to Do with It?

I’d like to offer you an odd little musical and visual artifact from late Putinism 3.0 to while away a slightly gloomy autumn evening, just as the song and video, below, attempts to conjure away the mounting troubles of the present by returning musically to the allegedly untroubled years immediately after Stalin’s death.

boyarsky

I came upon the song and video through a post sponsored by the Facebook page “Petersburg: Only For Love,” as pictured above.

The Facebook post quotes dialogue from the end of the video, featuring the members of the Petersburg band Proletarian Tango performing Mikhail Matusovsky and Tikhon Khrenikov’s famous 1956 song “Windows of Moscow.”

“Will you go with me to Petersburg?”

“What is there to do in that Petersburg of yours? Drink?”

“Live… Create… Love…”

“Thanks to the band Proletarian Tango for reminding us that the curb capable of dividing Muscovites and Petersburg still hasn’t been laid!” the post concludes. This is a reference to one of few shibboleths that distinguish Moscow Russian from Petersburg Russian—the two cities have different words for “curb” (bordyur and porebrik, respectively).

The still image shows a band member’s hand caressing a poster featuring a photograph of Petersburg singer and actor Mikhail Boyarsky, a vocal supporter of the Putin regime.

WINDOWS OF MOSCOW (1956) 

Music: Tikhon Khrennikov
Lyrics: Mikhail Matusovsky

Up high the sky darkens again,
And windows have lit up in the dusk.
It is here that my friends live,
And with bated breath
I gaze at the windows at night.

I love to dream under the windows.
I love to read them like books.
And, holding on to the precious light,
Exciting me and enticing me,
Like people, they look at me.

As in years gone by, once again I
Am ready to stand beneath your window.
And to the light of its rays
I alway hurry faster,
As on a date with my youth.

I admire you at night.
I wish you, windows, good luck.
It has been dear to me for many years,
And there is nothing brighter than
The unquenchable light of Moscow’s windows.

Source: Viktor Kalugin, ed., Anthology of Russian Song (Moscow: Eksmo, 2005). Translated by the Russian Reader

________

This tellingly depressing passage from Wikipedia’s article about the song’s composer, Tikhon Khrennikov, restores everything to the period that Proletarian Tango’s video tries so hard to airbrush out. TRR

By the 1930s, Khrennikov was already treated as a leading official Soviet composer. Typical was his speech during a discussion in February 1936 concerning the Pravda articles “Chaos instead of Music” and “Ballet Falseness”:

The resolution of April 23, 1932, appealed to the consciousness of the Soviet artist. Soviet artists had not withstood scrutiny. After April 23, young people were inspired to study. The problem was, we had to master the skills and techniques of composition. We developed an enthusiasm for modern western composers. The names of Hindemith and Krenek came to be symbols of advanced modern artists. […] After the enthusiasm for western tendencies came an attraction to simplicity, influenced by composing for the theater, where simple, expressive music was required. We grew, our consciousness also grew, as well as the aspiration to be genuine Soviet composers, representatives of our epoch. Compositions by Hindemith satisfied us no more. Soon after that, Prokofiev arrived, declaring Soviet music to be provincial and naming Shostakovich as the most up-to-date composer. Young composers were confused: on the one hand, they wanted to create simpler music that would be easier for the masses to understand; on the other hand, they were confronted with the statements of such musical authorities as Prokofiev. Critics wrote laudatory odes to Shostakovich. […] How did young composers react to Lady Macbeth [of Mtsensk]? This opera contains several large melodic fragments which opened some creative perspectives to us. But the entr’actes and other things aroused complete hostility.”

Together with other official representatives of Soviet culture […] Khrennikov signed the statement welcoming the “sentence of the Supreme Court of the Soviet Union passed on traitors against the Motherland, fascist hirelings such as Tukhachevsky, Yakir, and others.”

[…]

In 1948, Joseph Stalin appointed Khrennikov Secretary of the Union of Soviet Composers, a job he would keep until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, when the Union of Soviet Composers was disbanded.

The controversial Shostakovich memoir Testimony claims that Khrennikov was so intimidated at a meeting with Stalin that the composer soiled his pants and suffered a nervous breakdown.

For a long time it was held that, thanks to Khrennikov’s efforts, no Soviet composers were arrested or prosecuted.

In an interview with pianist Jascha Nemtsov on November 8, 2004, in Moscow, Khrennikov claimed that composer Mieczysław Weinberg, when arrested, had been discharged immediately because of Khrennikov’s protection; according to Khrennikov, the same had happened to Alexander Veprik. The facts are that Veprik spent four years in a prison camp, and Mieczysław Weinberg, who was released in June 1953, had been saved from prosecution, and probably from execution, only because of Stalin’s death. In recent years, information that had been suppressed since 1948 has been published, and documents and facts now known confirm that there were extensive prosecutions.

In 1949, Khrennikov officially attacked the young composer Alexander Lokshin, using the rhetoric of one of Stalin’s most notorious ideologists, Paul Apostolov. In his speech, Khrennikov contrasted Lokshin’s “modernist” style with Stepan Razin’s Dream by Galina Ustvolskaya, which he considered an ideal example of true national art.

Khrennikov’s speech aroused great indignation in Mikhail Gnessin, who accused him of duplicity. Not daring to criticise Lokshin in the professional milieu, Khrennikov attacked him ideologically from his position as a leading Soviet official. After this ideological campaign, Lokshin was excluded from academic circles.

Khrennikov did not prevent Prokofiev’s first wife, Lina Ivanovna, being charged as a “spy” following her arrest by the NKVD on February 20, 1948. As head of the Composers Union, Khrennikov made no attempt to have the sentence against Lina Prokofieva quashed or even to mitigate her plight in the Gulag. The Composers Union did not help Prokofiev’s sons, who were forcibly evicted from their apartment. After Lina Prokofieva returned from the Gulag, the Composers Union did nothing to improve the extremely bad living conditions of her family. It was the prominent singers Irina Arkhipova and Zurab Sotkilava who protected Prokofiev’s first family. Afterwards, the family was exposed to regular official humiliations. According to Prokofiev’s first son, Sviatoslav, the Composers Union officially refused Lina Prokofieva permission to go to Paris, after she had been personally invited by the French culture minister to the unveiling of a Prokofiev memorial plaque. Instead, Khrennikov took part in that ceremony with his whole family. The Composers Union also refused Lina Prokofieva permission to go to the opening of the Sydney Opera House. At the same time, Sviatoslav Prokofiev noted the typical rationale of the Soviet functionary: sometimes Khrennikov would help if it was not dangerous for his own position and career.

The ideological campaigns of 1948-49 against the so-called formalists in music were directly connected with the offensive against the so-called rootless cosmopolitans, which formed part of the official anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union, which flourished after the Second World War in various shapes: ideological resolutions, declarations by official writers and critics, and offensive caricatures and vulgar anti-Semitic abuse in the satirical magazine Krokodil (Crocodile). Historians of official anti-Semitism in the USSR name Khrennikov among the most active fighters for the “purity of Russian culture.” In Soviet official policy both before and after Stalin’s death, a clear distinction was drawn between “good Soviet Jews” and “Nazi Zionists.” True to this party line, the leadership of the Soviet Composers Union branded composers as “Zionist aggressors” or “agents of world imperialism,” and made accusations against “ideologically vicious” and “hostile” phenomena in Soviet musical culture. The accusation of Zionism was often used as a weapon against people of different nationalities, faiths, and opinions, such as Nikolai Roslavets. The “struggle against the formalists” was pursued in other countries, too. According to György Ligeti, after Khrennikov’s official visit to Budapest in 1948, The Miraculous Mandarin by Béla Bartók was removed from the repertoire, and paintings by French impressionists and others were removed from display in museums. In 1952, Ligeti was almost forbidden to teach after he had shown the score of the proscribed Symphony of Psalms by Igor Stravinsky to his students. Ligeti was saved only because of the personal protection of Zoltán Kodály.

Khrennikov and other functionaries of the Composers Union constantly attacked the heritage of the Russian avant-garde as well as its researchers. For example, the German musicologist Detlef Gojowy (1934–2008) was persecuted because of his promotion in the West of modern Soviet music of the 1920s. Gojowy was proclaimed to be an “anti-Soviet writer.” Until 1989, he was forbidden to visit the Soviet Union, and some of the publications he sent to Soviet colleagues were intercepted by Soviet customs. At the same time, Soviet musicologists engaged in developing the Russian avant-garde tradition were officially prohibited from going abroad. Once again, Nikolai Roslavets was an example.

[…]

In his last years, Khrennikov made extremely negative statements about perestroika, its leaders, the fall of the Soviet Union, and the liquidation of corresponding organizations:

“It was a betrayal by our leaders. I consider Gorbachev and his henchmen, who deliberately organized the persecution of Soviet art, to be traitors to the party and the people […].”

In another interview given to the same newspaper Zavtra […] he described Stalin as a “genius,” an “absolutely normal person,” tolerant of criticism:

“Stalin, in my opinion, knew music better than any of us. […] As in classical Ancient Greece, so too in the Soviet Union music was of the greatest importance to the state. The spiritual influence of the greatest composers and artists in the formation of intelligent and strong-willed people, first of all through radio, was huge.”

Source: Wikipedia. The above article was lightly edited to make it more readable.

__________

By way of cleansing your palate, I’d like to sign off with a recording by the wonderful Soviet jazz singer and actor Leonid Utyosov performing “Windows of Moscow” with real feeling and dignity.

Wayward Pines

khvoyny-map-1

Khvoyny is located south of Krasnoye Selo, an outlying suburb of St. Petersburg
Khvoyny is located south of Krasnoye Selo, an outlying suburb of St. Petersburg

A Town’s Story
Irina Tumakova
Fontanka.ru
September 14, 2016

This is Saint Petersburg too, but there is no medical clinic, no pharmacy, no legally operating shops, and no eateries here. The roofs are hastily under repair in time for the elections, but the trash is not hauled away. Fontanka.ru took a look at how this Petersburg gets along.

История одного городка

The letter was an invitation to journey, as the old rubric in the newspapers used to be called. Fontanka.ru got a call from a woman who introduced herself, requested we tell no one she had called, and complained about her unbearable life. She said her life and the lives of her two and a half thousand neighbors were unbearable.

“Just don’t tell anyone I called you,” she repeated, switching to a whisper.

We will honor Nina Petrovna’s request, although I never did figure out whom she was hiding from. (Nina Petrovna is not her real name.) When I came to visit her, when she gave me a tour of her town’s horrors, we were gradually joined by neighbors and even a former municipal councilman who had a roll of glossy paper tucked under his arm. I would nod, rustle my notepad, and feel like a high commission, registering people’s complaints. The procession would expand, and every passerby who did not join it would happily greet us. That is right, they would say, spell them all out in the newspaper. “They” were the authorities who had reduced the whole town to misery. Towards the end, everyone asked me in unison not to identify them.  They had secrecy down pat here. This was not surprising: Khvoyny is the former military garrison town L-237. So Nina Petrovna is a composite character.

Nowadays, the place is an exclave of Petersburg known as Khvoyny (“Coniferous”). Formally part of Petersburg’s outlying Krasnoye Selo district, all the local residents are registered as residents of Petersburg. In practical terms, this village of two and a half thousand residents is stuck between two districts of the surrounding Leningrad Region, Gatchina and Lomonosov. Khvoyny has ceased being a military town, but has still not become a civilian one.

“No one needs us!” Nina Petrovna bitterly informs me. She has spelled out what the trouble is in four words.

Nearly all of Khvoyny’s residents are retired army officers, officers’ wives, and officers’ children. In the early 1960s, they were allocated flats in this spot, which was considered a paradise. There are coniferous trees here, but even more hardwoods. The three-story brick residential buildings are almost in the midst the woods. I arrived here from downtown Petersburg and almost suffered oxygen shock. Here and there, you need to take a forest path to get from one building to another. Since construction of the town was completed in the 1960s, many of the buildings are Stalin-era houses with three-meter-high ceilings. On the upper floors, the ceilings have cracked in places and are covered in mold, because the roofs have not been repaired since the sixties, apparently. But now metallic structures tower next to the buildings: the roofs are rapidly undergoing major repairs.

“Oh, yes,” Nina Petrovna nods. “It was a miracle we were put on the capital renovations program. We have been promised our roofs will be fixed by September 18 [Russian election day this year—TRR].”

Previously, the only way to get into L-237 was through a checkpoint at the invitation of a local resident, but all that remains of the checkpoint are iron gates always left open. Before Nina Petrovna can tell me about the town’s hardships, I notice evenly laid asphalt in the passages between the houses, and cheerful flowerbeds and neat playgrounds in the courtyards. There are even public exercise machines next to the school. So my first impression of Khvoyny is that only profoundly ungrateful and picky people could complain about it.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” says Nina Petrovna, waving her hand. “We planted the flowers ourselves. And our municipal councilman pushed through the playgrounds and the asphalt. What he managed to do when he was on the council is left. But then someone from Krasnoye Selo was elected instead of him. No one deals with our problems anymore.”

We won’t be coming back to how the former municipal councilman “pushed” those things  through. The story looks shady, and the so-called ex-councilman absolutely refused to share the paperwork with us. The problem is that, formally speaking, everything in Khvoyny, including the land, still belongs to the Defense Ministry, and it is not quite clear on what grounds the municipal powers that be were trying to build a garden town, complete with asphalt and exercise machines. But the residents of the former L-237 are terribly worried that the asphalt and the playgrounds and the exercise machines and even the half-repaired roofs will all be taken away. Just as the swimming pool, the bathhouse, the cafeteria, the clinic, the pharmacy, and the shops have already been taken away. Khvoyny once had all these amenities.

“The swimming pool is still there,” Nina Petrovna corrects me. “I don’t know what is in there now, but the military garrison has put it under guard, and someone stops by there from time to time.”

The medical clinic is also still standing. I am led there as if it were a local landmark.

poliklinika1
The sign reads, “Working Hours of the Khvoyny Village Medical Clinic.”

“It used to be a hospital branch,” Nina Petrovna says. “It had everything: an X-ray machine, a lab, and complete staff of doctors. You could undergo physiotherapy here.”

The door has been wide open for many years, and you can walk in. Chair legs covered with a layer of dust lie in the hallways. Books are strewn about, and computer debris crunches underfoot. When the military moved out, it looks as if they did all they could to make sure the enemy would not get their hands on these precious things. The stench testifies to the fact the building is now used as a public toilet.

Their Krasnoye Selo residence permits mean the residents of Khvoinyi are assigned to the Krasnoye Selo Medical Clinic. But, says Nina Petrovna, it takes something like an hour to get there on the minibus. But to say that the residents of Khvoyny have been left without medical care would be shamelessly slandering the authorities.

“The outpatient clinic and the district doctor come three times a week,” Nina Petrovna admits.

The “outpatient clinic” is a minivan. The doctors sees patients right in the van. The patients queue up outside the van.

“If it’s raining, we stand under umbrellas,” sighs Nina Petrovna. “Can you imagine what it’s like in winter?”

Once, she tells me, a neighbor summoned an ambulance from Krasnoye Selo. It arrived the next day.

Another building the residents of Khvoyny like to show off is the former cafeteria. The military, apparently, retreated from this building in keeping with all the regulations, trashing everything they could not take with them. The cafeteria’s doors are securely locked, so visitors get in by climbing through a shattered window.

A wise man once conversed with the people via a TV screen. A old man complained to him about awful roads, roads on which it was impossible to drive a car. The wise man’s reply was reasonable. Why, he said, do you need a car if there are no roads? It is the same thing with the residents of Khvoyny. They don’t have a pharmacy, but why do they need a pharmacy if they don’t have a medical clinic, either?

“People who have cars are alright,” sighs Nina Petrovna. “But it’s so much trouble going by bus every time to buy medications.”

But residents have to take the bus in any case because neither are there any shops in Khvoyny. There is a building in town. The sign on it says, “Store.” The windows are boarded up.

“People from one of the big retailers came here, either Pyatyorochka or Magnit,” Nina Petrovna repeats a rumor. “The military demanded such high rent they left as soon as they arrived!”

“Store”

This story of how the military “demanded” high rent conceals, apparently, the reason why there no shops and no pharmacy in Khvoyny. All the buildings are still the property of the Defense Ministry. Local residents assure me the process of transferring them to the city has been going on for fifteen years or so. The ex-councilman, mentioned earlier, knows something about this, but once again he does not want to show me the paperwork. He says the problem will be resolved quite soon.

For now, though, anyone who wants to open a shop or pharmacy in Khvoyny has to contact the military about the rent. Apparently, such people do reach out to them. And certain people seemingly manage to luck out and agree on the rent. Products are sold in a cubbyhole in the boarded-up store. In a kiosk on the next street over, an enterprising fellow sells milk, bread, vodka, sausages, and other edibles that he ships in from Petersburg. An old woman bakes him pasties to sell. So the kiosk doubles, as it were, as a “branch” of the former cafeteria. All these businesses seem to have settled with the military on terms that are not suitable for large retail chains and even less so for pharmacies. But quality control of the products is as reliable as can be. It is implemented not by some consumer watchdog agency, but by the consumers themselves. If push comes to shove, they can beat up the retailers.

Another sight to see in Khvoyny is the rubbish dump on the outskirts of town. There used to be a path here that people took when going shopping in the neighboring village of Taitsy. When the dump appeared, they had to alter their route, because the dumpsters are hauled away, at best, on the eve of big holidays, and the perpetual puddle near the dump is so large that, at all other times, residents have to toss their rubbish into dumpster from a distance of three meters. You can see, however, that accuracy is not the principal virtue of Khvoyny’s residents.

pomoyka

If you think the military are so ruthless only to the civilian population, think again. This accusation completely falls away when you see their own dormitory. It is inhabited by those in Khvoyny who do not have their own flats. The garrison continues to operate, and despite the peacetime conversion I have described, the garrison’s current headquarters is still located in the town. Soldiers and officers assigned to the garrison are housed in the dormitory as well. If you are lucky, the ceiling in your room will leak only in one spot. At most, you will need to put two buckets on the floor to catch the water. And it is not so terrible there is one toilet per floor. As we recall, the former medical clinic functions as a public toilet.

My tour of Khvoyny lasted three hours. During those three hours, the hard lives of Khvoyny’s residents and the total neglect they suffer at the hands of the powers that be filled me with compassion for them. We said our goodbyes next to an imported car with a plush toy dog in the back window. A St. George’s Ribbon was tied round the doggy’s neck. Before leaving, I decided to have a look at the glossy scroll the ex-councilman had been carrying throughout my tour. It turned out to be a campaign poster for country’s main political party. He had to hang it on wall to do his part for the campaign. I asked the residents of Khvoyny whether they were going to vote for this party.
sobachka

“Of course!” said Nina Petrovna firmly, her lips pursed. “I don’t see an alternative. Otherwise, there will be war. The country will divided up, and the Americans will grab all our riches.”

I left town with a feeling of joy. It was a good thing, after all, the residents of Khvoyny would be hanging on to their riches.

All photos by Irina Tumakova. Map images courtesy of OpenStreetMap and Google Maps. Translated by the Russian Reader. Thanks to Comrade VZ for the heads-up