Why did officials need to relocate urban youth to the countryside

High-ranking officials put forward an idea that is amazing in its originality: why not make another great migration of Russians? This time from the cities to the fields. Raise and restore villages…

Indeed, what should young people do in cities – these hotbeds of debauchery and lack of spirituality?

Let me ask you, when was the last time our officials were in a village consisting entirely of age-old grannies, drunks and Moscow summer residents for the summer?

There are not even elementary paramedical stations there – they have all been closed for a long time under the optimization program. There are no schools – for the same reason. There is a shop that sells sausage, bathrobes and fertilizers at the same time, and – sometimes – a pharmacy. There are no farmers either. They appeared back in the 90s, but they all grew up thanks to the same officials who made this business unbearable.

The Internet, by the way, is also not everywhere. Last year, a friend invited me to visit the Tver region for the weekend, where she has a dacha. Very pastoral place. Come, he says, our hut is well worth it – just walk two hundred meters and catch a net near the bathhouse, it’s quite possible to sit there at night under the starry sky and write articles …

Fine! In summer. It’s not good in winter. There is nothing. Plus, you have to fire up the oven. Have deputies ever lit a stove? Did you bring water from the well? Did you wash the dishes in the basin? And to the toilet in a bucket in the hallway? And to wash yourself with a mug – you can’t heat a bath every day. And what are buses twice a week to the nearest city, do you know?

And what, if I may say so, should urban youth do in such conditions? Heroically overcome difficulties? Also become bloggers and, according to the principle of a pyramid, invite other simpletons to your place?

So there are no simpletons in the city. And there are no romantics among the young. Which represent the Russian hinterland as a kind of scenery for the old film “It was in Penkovo”.

Yes, such lubok pictures really went around fifty years ago, when those who lived on collective farms had nowhere to go. Passports were handed out to the villagers only in 1974 and at the same time they were allowed to leave their natural habitat without the permission of the chairman.

Few people remember, but serfdom in our country was actually abolished not on February 19, 1861, but only 49 years ago. And as soon as it was canceled, people immediately began to scatter. Is it going to be forced to return now too? No right to leave?

Officials have another idea-fix. It is necessary to restore demographics, as Dmitry Peskov said the other day.

From this point of view, as it may seem to our authorities, the Russian village is just very suitable. And what other entertainment, besides state TV, is there in the long evenings?

Mowing. Tanned and sweaty shoulders of men raking stacks with pitchforks. (I’m not sure that stacks are being raked, I’ll have to ask rural bloggers about the process).

The tucked-in hem of the sarafan at the peasant women. Milk pouring over the edge of a jug.

And after a bad day – with pleasure and without coercion in the same stacks, new villagers restore domestic demography.

And somewhere in the distance an accordion is playing, which does not give rest to officials. Back in December last year, they were going to equip every rural club with this musical instrument under the state program. I wonder if the process has already started?

Well, how. If there is an accordion, there must be someone who will play it?

The new idea of ​​resettling in the villages should be carried to the masses by the rulers of thoughts – rural bloggers. All hope is on them.

Eeeeeee…. Do officials know exactly who rural bloggers are?

Fifteen years ago, I went on a business trip to the Tambov outback to one of the first rural bloggers.

Sergei Kumarin (who himself lived, by the way, in St. Petersburg) glorified his small homeland by hosting a reality show from there, who sleeps with whom, who drinks what and who beats whom. Advertised, so to speak, native open spaces.

Journalists really often came here: everything was real here, without duplicates – they drink, beat, love …

The village was clearly not ready for the glory that had fallen on it.

Hungry for spectacles, TV people wandered the streets, caught the main characters of the Internet, in front of the camera they fell silent like partisans and thawed only if they were poured a small one – and they were persuaded to say that they had quit.

And then the village became generally stern, puritanized, like everyone around, and now its site is not much different from other similar rural sites. They congratulated the women on March 8, spent a class hour at school, and improved the cemetery. Boring and patriotic, or something earlier.

“A technologist with two higher educations, a citizen of Pukhovets, had a pregnant cow fall into a well. The technologist moved to the village from the regional town of Uvarovo after a huge chemical plant was closed there and she was fired. In the village she was known as a woman who loves animals. The fallen cow was pulled out of the well with a tucked back leg. They didn’t score, they waited two days until they calved. The arrived veterinarian stated with horror that the leg of the four-legged woman in labor of that … was amputated. Without anesthesia. “And I think, why should she suffer with a broken one, it’s better with an ax right away, it’s not difficult for me,” the hostess explained compassionately and mercilessly.

The Russian village is just as compassionate and merciless. Like our whole life. But if the servants of the people really want to, they themselves can set an example and move there.