“The president lives in his own reality”: Confessions of police officers and government officials in Russia’s borderlands

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“Even the police aren’t so sure they’re in the right anymore. What if things flip tomorrow and they’re the ones being held to account?”

— I., police officer, Voronezh Region

From the very start, there weren’t many people in the system who looked at this whole thing with any kind of optimism. Even back in February 2022, it was clear to everyone this was going to be a mess. But of course, everyone keeps their mouth shut. Sure, we’ve got a few who loudly support the “special military operation” — they say it’s because they “love their country.” But you don’t see them rushing to the front. At most, they’ll chop some firewood “for the guys” or chip in for some fancy tactical mat. There's probably enough donors to form an entire rifle platoon. By all means, go ahead if you’re so committed. But no one’s actually eager to go to war — none of ours, and none of the civilians either.

Last year, there were rumors going around that police had been given recruitment quotas — that we were supposed to convince suspects to sign military contracts in exchange for dropping their charges. I don’t know how it works in other regions, but that’s not how it works here. True, we can offer that option — it’s even encouraged — but there are no quotas or pressure. Personally, I don’t force anyone to join the army. I just tell them it’s one of the options. And I always make it clear: in one case, you serve your time and eventually get out. In the other — well, there’s no guarantee you’ll even come back alive. Most of the time, they don’t sign.

Sometimes you’ll see colleagues pressuring a drug addict: “So are you going to make up for your crimes with blood?” Obviously, in that kind of situation, the person isn’t really in a position to talk back. But when someone gets irritated enough, they’ll ask, “Why aren’t you going yourself, then?” And honestly, there’s not much you can say to that.

I know of cases in which criminals have gone through this whole process multiple times. A guy gets sent to war, gets his pardon, and then he gets into trouble again. Another pardon — back to the front. And so it goes, until he finally gets torn in half out there.

No one likes being put on duty on “political” dates — like Navalny’s birthday or the day he died. Some regular people show up with flowers. Not many, but more than you’d think from the news about arrests. We bring them in and ask a few questions — “Why are you here? Why today?” They’ll say something like, “Just paying respects to my great-grandfather.” At that point, all you can do is breathe a sigh of relief and let them go. Ordinary police officers aren’t so sure they’re in the right anymore. What if things flip tomorrow and they’re the ones being held to account? Did they detain people, interrogate them, rough them up? No — no beatings, we just “invited them for a conversation.” The citizen came voluntarily. What’s wrong with a little chat?

We check people’s phones to see if they’ve been texting with Ukrainian numbers. You open the news feed in the morning: something’s on fire in Cheboksary, in Tambov, in Siberia, in the Far East. And here, the police are busy checking the phones of people carrying flowers. I advise people not to write anything anywhere. And not to fall for those setups — like, “Hey brother, I’m part of the resistance too. Let’s meet, talk, maybe you can help us.” There is no resistance.

Cops have this unspoken game: who’ll crack first and show emotion. And everyone’s scared to be the one who does. Thankfully, rank-and-file operatives like me mostly get left alone when it comes to all that political stuff. Sure, once in a while they ask us to pin on a Z or V somewhere. But the kind of work I do gives me some cover. There’s no shortage of drug addicts, thieves, and all kinds of scum — and for the bosses, clearance rates still matter more than lapel pins. They watch those stats closely. So when it’s a choice between solving cases or parading around with slogans, the answer’s obvious. I’m glad this is my area. I’ve never once felt guilty about what I do. Pushing methadone is wrong, regardless of who is in power, be it an authoritarian leader or even some council of elders. The same goes for whacking people over the head or snatching their phones.

We have to respond to crimes even during shellings or drone attacks. Everyone treats it like the new normal. Technically, we’re supposed to wear helmets while on duty, but no one bothers with those anymore. Everyone just walks around in body armor.

Is it hard for me? Yeah, probably. But I’m not sure how much harder it is compared to everyone else. Once a year, the psychologists check us out — give us some forms to fill out, a few tests. It feels like something out of Blade Runner: “within cells interlinked.” They want to see if you’re stable or if something’s off. But it’s all just a formality. The truth is, the Interior Ministry is short on people. Hardly anyone wants to do this kind of work — not because of the salary, but because the whole system is so messed up. Honestly, being a courier sounds easier and way more appealing.

That phrase — “everyone’s having a hard time” — has annoyed me since I was a kid, and now it drives me up the wall. Why the hell should everyone be suffering? Some people say we need to accept the inevitable. Well, if you’re the one making the decisions, then go ahead and accept your “inevitable” yourself. I don’t want to accept it — especially when it’s not even clear why. So what do you do? I guess whatever you can. Maybe you keep your protest to yourself, maybe you let it slip, maybe you do something more meaningful. Like I said — it’s a mind game. Everyone understands what’s going on. But you have to stay in character as long as you can. No one’s going to make it to the end of this performance. The war will end — and then we’ll all have to clean up the mess.

“When the strikes started hitting us too, all that 'hurrah' stuff suddenly went quiet”

— Yu., regional government official, Belgorod Region

I’m pretty sure it’s the same sh*tshow in every government office, agency, city, and region all across Russia. In June, for example, they arrested Deputy Governor Zainullin, allegedly for stealing billions of rubles meant for building fortifications. Before that, the governor of Kursk got nabbed for the same thing — and later turned up with a bullet in his head.

Did anyone really think things would be any different here, in the neighboring region? As if they’re stealing over there, but not here? Our governor [Vyacheslav Gladkov] is clearly on edge now. Hardly anyone doubts that sooner or later, he’s going to run into trouble too. It’s just a matter of time. People have already told him to shoot himself — not on some banned platform, but on mainstream social media. And it’s not just anonymous trolls — it’s the same folks who used to publicly praise him. For now, he’s holding his ground, meeting with Putin and all. But honestly, even if they don’t get him over the fortifications, life itself will grind him down eventually.

Some officials are considering a career change. But in the past three years, only a handful have actually left. As you can imagine, the options aren’t great. Personally, I haven’t seriously thought about it yet because I have no idea where I’d even go.

Regional authorities are still planting tulips in flowerbeds, holding festivals and concerts — the idea is to “distract people from the war.” But I don’t think that’s even necessary anymore. People are avoiding the topic on their own, without incentives from above. Life goes on. Everything’s “fine.” Nothing’s happened. And as for pushing some kind of active patriotism — that’s not going to work either.

I remember February 24, 2022 like it was yesterday. All that “hurrah” stuff didn’t kick in until later in the day — around 3 p.m. or so. Before that, we saw long lines at gas stations, crowds at ATMs. At dawn, in the southern part of Belgorod, where the windows face Kharkiv, people were crying on their balconies, watching the rockets fly across the sky. Then we realized nothing was coming back at us, and slowly, people started showing support. But eventually, the strikes did start hitting us. And that’s when all the “hurrahs” faded — fast.

Inside the system, we’ve already reached the stage of indifference at every level. The higher-ups have come to terms with the fact that this could all end in the worst and most unexpected way. They’ve taken care of their families’ futures, and the rest is out of their hands. Among colleagues, whether at work or at informal gatherings, no one brings up the war anymore. You never know who might snitch on you. Even among family, there are no more arguments. Everyone sees things in their own way, and no one's changing their mind.

The ones really struggling in the region are businesses — they’re on the verge of collapse. Nobody knows how to cut any more costs — they’ve already cut everything to the bone. In these three and a half years, nothing has been done. They just kept taking men from families. Not a single new business opened, and nothing was built.

“Silence doesn’t mean support — I see that clearly, as I have friends and family inside the system”

— S., city hall employee, Belgorod

There have been far fewer missile strikes in recent months, thank God, but now there are a lot more drones. They even hit the building of the Oktyabrsky District Court. The deputy chairperson was injured, and everyone here is talking about it. They’ve hit our building, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, and the FSB as well. Recently, there were reports that a drone nearly struck the governor’s office. But I don’t believe that. The governor doesn’t sit on the top floor of the administration building — that’s obvious. His office is in the middle, sandwiched between other floors.

I haven’t seen Belgorod this run down in a long time. It’s like the city went back to the mid-1990s, when the streets were full of drifters, dirty sludge everywhere, trash on the sidewalks, chunks of asphalt missing. It’s all coming back. People cry, recalling how beautiful the city used to be. But they don’t want to think about the reason why it happened. If a discussion starts, they just shut each other down, spitting insults like: “You’re [a Ukrainian agent],” “No, you’re [a Ukrainian agent].”

Our governor is beyond criticism, and that goes double for the bosses in Moscow. But honestly, he’s not really one of us — never was, and never will be. Everyone who’s been here a while knows that. When they brought him here from Stavropol, they got rid of all the previous leaders. A lot of them ended up in prison. They weren’t saints, but at least they respected their home. I don’t envy any of them.

What really stands out is the leadership’s constant effort to save face. They push for big events and concerts at Prince Vladimir [a monument in the city center]. I don’t blame philharmonic workers or teachers — public sector workers are basically slaves, myself included. But when a drone strike hits the gas station next door, leaving several people injured and some dead, and here we are with an orchestra performing, people see it all. They understand it’s just dancing on graves.

Epic construction projects are going on nonstop in the city. Meanwhile, they ask us to chip in for things like electronic warfare systems. There was even a scandal around the new Ferris wheel on the Seversky Donets embankment. When people asked the officials how anyone’s supposed to ride it if the city comes under attack, they said the wheel would speed up during air raid alarms — apparently to crank up the thrill factor.

We keep getting complaints: why are people whose homes were bombed still living in tents, while budget money is being spent on tulips? Why is there an 18-million-ruble billboard at the entrance to Sosnovka? So far, questions about the disconnect between real problems and the official agenda go unanswered. I’m just waiting for the authorities to finally wake up — and they will, eventually.

Respect for Governor Gladkov has been dropping for over a year now. There are all the signs: complaints, comments, requests. At first, he had a great deal of trust and got away with a lot. Do you get a rent subsidy after your home was damaged by shells? Consider yourself lucky. In Kursk Region, when the war reached them, people were immediately given housing certificates. And the people of Belgorod are asking: why aren't we getting certificates? We’ve been living like this for three years already. They’re asking quietly for now, but I think the feeling of injustice is off the charts.

Under the previous governor, Savchenko, things were calm. Back in 2019, even the blogger [Ilya] Varlamov was surprised that not a single mayor here was behind bars. Then Gladkov was appointed, and everything started falling apart. He jailed the old team, turned in two mayors. Of course, he didn’t have many options. He had to save himself. But he lost his reputation as the heroic head of a frontline region.

People go to their border villages to feed abandoned livestock. They get caught in drone strikes. Some get injured, some die. And Gladkov refuses to give them financial assistance. He says it’s their own fault for going into the line of fire. But what fault do these people bear? Did they start this war? How that is even possible, I don’t know. But apparently it is. If you spat in his face, that’d be like throwing away 15 years of your life. All things considered, you might just as well dunk him face-first into a barbecue grill.

It’s not true that all public sector workers have supported the war from the start. Far from it. Silence doesn’t mean support — I see that clearly, as I have a few friends and family inside the system. People are waiting for life to put everything in its place. With this chaos, it’ll happen sooner or later. And I’m sure Moscow understands this too — they just can’t not see it.

The president talked about “action” and boredom, but I get the feeling he’s the only one enjoying all this. He must be living in his own reality. Nobody in our administration expects things to get better. There’s no optimism — only a strong feeling that this whole nightmare we’re living through might one day seem like the good old days.