‘Tsar Putin!’

Meduza’s dispatch from Russia’s ‘rally concert’ celebrating 10 years of an annexed Crimea and six more years of Putin

The day after incumbent Vladimir Putin secured his fifth term as president, Russia celebrated the 10th anniversary of its annexation of Ukraine’s Crimean Peninsula. This fortuitous convergence allowed for a unique celebration: a “rally concert” ostensibly dedicated to the annexation anniversary but starring none other than the newly re-elected Putin himself. A Meduza correspondent who attended the event recounts how the day unfolded.

“Attention passengers, go outside to meet up with or wait for others,” blares out of the loudspeakers at Moscow’s Teatralnaya subway station. There’s still over an hour until the start of the “rally concert” commemorating the 10th anniversary of Russia’s annexation of Crimea (and Putin’s victory in the latest “elections”), but the subway is already packed. Still, it would be difficult to guess from the crowd that a pro-government “celebration” is about to begin on Red Square — there are no flags, St. George ribbons, or “Z” badges anywhere to be seen.

The event is invitation-only, but tickets are readily distributed to government employees and students. Along with the pass come recommendations on how to prepare: don’t drink coffee or take diuretic medications before leaving home.

There’s a line from the subway exit toward the metal detectors. An officer cursorily checks people’s bags while volunteers scan the QR codes on the invitations. Several hundred feet further is the end of another, much more serious, line for the entrance. This one’s hardly moving, and some people have been standing in it for hours.

Half an hour passes, but there’s still no progress; people are pushing closer to each other. The mood quickly shifts from festive to tired and aggressive. “This is my first and last concert!” someone hisses. “You're wasting your time,” a young man echoes irritably, adding that he hasn’t made it to the entrance even after a couple of hours. Not everyone believes him though. “Mm-hmm, it’s just those opposition folks again,” an older woman dismisses his words.

“I remember back in the 1980s, there was a Mashina Vremeni concert here — it was even worse!” says a gray-haired man in a work jacket and cap. “People would wave a piece of regular paper in front of the entry staff, and they would let them through, thinking it was a ticket. How could you possibly check everyone’s tickets in that kind of crowd? It was physically impossible!”

The concert in front of St. Basil’s Cathedral begins on time (at 4:30 p.m. in Moscow), but from the line, it’s impossible to tell what’s happening. There’s a screen set up near the square entrance, but the broadcast keeps cutting off — and when it’s working, there’s no sound. “What happens if we can’t get in?” a woman asks her friends. Just 15 minutes ago, she’d been laughing.

After a few minutes, the sound finally starts working, although hardly anyone in the crowd pays much attention. Not many are interested in listening to Alexander Dobronravov’s rendition of “How Delightful are the Evenings in Russia” or to Mia Boyka’s pop hits. (Popular among Russian teenagers, this is Boyka’s first major pro-government concert.) Instead, people are talking about the “appalling organization” and the “disrespect” being shown to those who’ve come out for the event. “People are showing up with all their patriotism and being rewarded with this shitshow!” one man exclaims.

By the second hour, some decide it’s worth watching the show after all. Someone suggests streaming it, but people immediately reject the idea: due to the Kremlin’s electronic anti-drone systems, mobile Internet is mostly disabled on Red Square these days. Those expressing frustration at these measures are quickly silenced: “Do you want us to get hit here?” an elderly woman asks sternly. On the screen, the broadcast is lagging far behind the concert.

“Who are they announcing now?” a girl in a beige coat who looks like a student asks her friend.

“Some Aksenov guy.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Sergey Aksenov, Crimea’s Russian-appointed governor, appears via video link to address the crowd. He’s saying something to commemorate the 10th anniversary of Crimea’s “referendum,” but it’s impossible to make out exactly what.

Meduza’s correspondent only manages to get to the second security checkpoint by around 6:30 p.m., after three hours in line. Riot police and plainclothes officers meticulously examine each attendee’s belongings. Some people are told to take off their outerwear: one man is left standing for several minutes in just a T-shirt in the below-freezing temperatures. Male officers search women because, at least at this entrance, there are no female security staff. This both shocks and amuses the attendees. “What if I’m wearing ugly underwear, and there’s a guy?” jokes one woman.

The invitations are scanned right after the checkpoint. About half the people who came immediately turn around and head back toward the subway. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the crowd:

“Looks like folks are just scanning their tickets and heading back. Maybe we should do the same?”

“No, we still need to show we were here. And anyway, you don’t want us to have stood here all day for nothing, do you?”

Meanwhile, Red Square is filled with people: many are waving Russian flags (apparently distributed by volunteers after the second security check), and some are holding paper cups of tea. During breaks between performances, the presenter, Yulia Baranovskaya, takes the stage. Meduza’s correspondent manages to get closer just in time to hear a Putin-style history lecture.

“Over the past ten years, Crimea has modernized, but back in the 15th century, they carried out raids on the Rus’ from there. This is OUR history, OUR memory,” Baranovskaya says, before yielding the stage to Russian actor Vladimir Steklov. Steklov recites Eduard Asadov’s poem “Russia did not begin with the sword” with fervor. Following this, Radio Tapok (another star who’s begun appearing at pro-government concerts) sings a song called “Time of Troubles” about the eponymous period of political, social, and economic upheaval in early 17th-century Russia.

After this historical interlude, Baranovskaya returns to the stage to remind the crowd that 2024 is the Year of the Family. She speaks warmly about Russia’s strong support for families with three or more children.

“Fucking bullshit! They give you 5,000 rubles [$54], just 5,000!” a man in a black jacket and jeans exclaims, nearly stomping his foot. The people around him nod. But this all goes unnoticed on stage. Irina Dubtsova starts singing “Family is the Most Important Thing,” after calling it the “official anthem of Russia’s Year of the Family.”

The crowd doesn’t seem too excited by the performances. No one knows the words, or even the artists. However, this all changes once Sergey Zhukov from the group Ruki Vverh! takes the stage. “When we were young…” he begins, and the crowd joins in. “It’s the young who will make our country great!” Zhukov says after finishing his performance.

The crowd welcomes Grigory Leps even more fervently, almost breaking into a roar. Leps performs several hits and praises the annexation, saying that as someone from Sochi, he “cares whose ships enter Black Sea waters.” After this, he inexplicably licks his fingers and flashes the V sign. As he finishes out his set, a group of young people stand in a circle and sing along until they’re hoarse.

Soon, Vladimir Putin, the culprit behind the hours-long lines and searches, finally appears. “Tsar Putin! Finally!” the crowd screams hysterically. Putin’s three election “rivals” follow him onto the stage, but the crowd ignores them. “Pu-tin! Pu-tin!” they chant.

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For the first few minutes, Putin pretends he’s only there to celebrate the annexation. He wishes Russians a happy anniversary of the event and talks about all of Crimea’s “achievements” as part of the Russian Federation. “Soon, there will be direct trains to Sevastopol. This will be another alternative to the Crimean Bridge. […] And this is precisely what makes us stronger — not just in words, but in practice!” Stronger than whom or in what way, the president doesn’t specify.

“Just now, I met with colleagues who went through... went through their own journey in the presidential campaign. They’re all here, I invited them, and it’s a surprise for them to come to today’s event. We have different approaches to achieving national goals, but we have one homeland. They’re here. I wish you a happy holiday, and I’d like them to say a few words to you, too.”

The runner-up in the election, Communist Party candidate Nikolai Kharitonov, draws puzzled looks from the crowd. “Who’s this?” people ask each other. “I don’t know him.”

Putin’s “rivals” limit themselves to short, formal remarks about how pleased they are with Russia’s annexation of Crimea and how grateful they are to Putin. Each time one of them mentions Putin’s name, he smiles contentedly and tilts his head to the side.

The president’s segment closes with the Russian national anthem. Putin sings along, bids farewell to the audience, and exits, awkwardly embracing those who happen to cross his path. The crowd sees off the president and begins to disperse as if on cue, even though the concert isn’t over yet.

“To you, my land, I wish clear skies and happiness,” echoes from the stage.

“Where's the exit, for crying out loud?!” the crowd shouts over the singers.