Parallel Cheremushkin: The Absence and Presence of 'War' in a Provincial Russian City

At the beginning of the Russia-Ukraine war, sociologists, experts, and the general public were concerned with the question of how much Russians support the war unleashed by Putin – is this his war or the war of the Russian people? Today, it is more or less clear that quantitative distributions give us only a very limited answer to this question: there is a group of staunch supporters of the war that sincerely resonates with official narratives, and there is a group of staunch opponents, and there is a large 'grey zone' in between.

Over the course of 2022, researchers at the Public Sociology Lab (PS Lab) collected a large array of in-depth interviews in which they attempted to find out how and why Russian citizens support / do not support or oppose the war. This work provided a deeper understanding of how people resolve value and cognitive conflicts in their search for ways to adapt to a repressive-militaristic reality. However, it also became clear that the interview situation itself creates a public context in which informants, willingly or unwillingly, resort to arguments and narratives from public debates.

To obtain additional and less mediated data on Russians' attitudes toward the war and the military everyday life in present-day Russia, the researchers undertook another incredible immersion experiment. Members of the PS Lab team travelled to three Russian regions, where they spent a month in participant observation mode, without, of course, publicising the subject of their study.

The full report on this ethnographic research and the interviews collected during it will be published in early July this year on the website and Telegram channel of the Laboratory of the Public Sociology Lab. One of the chapters has been kindly adapted by the authors for publication on the Re:Russia platform as a preview.

About this text

At the beginning of the war, the most pressing question for experts, politicians, and Russians themselves was the nature of support for the war: who supports it, why, and what percentage of the total population these people represent. Two years later, when many people in Russia are affected by the war – by going to the front, losing loved ones, or dying under shelling in the border areas – and, at the same time, society and the economy are getting used to and adapting to the military reality, experts, analysts, and the interested public have a new object of inquiry. This seeks to understand whether Russians feel the impact of the war in their daily lives. Are they adapting to what is happening, and if so, how? What makes them happy, and what are they dissatisfied with?

Surveys and even formalised interviews alone cannot answer the question of how Russians live in the new reality, of which war is an inescapable part. For this, a special type of research is needed — systematic participant observation of what is happening. As we know, people discuss sensitive topics with each other quite differently than they would with unknown sociologists. Despite the many risks associated with such research in today's Russia, the Public Sociology Lab team managed to carry it out. In the autumn of 2023, the team travelled to three Russian regions — the Sverdlovsk region, the Republic of Buryatia, and Krasnodar Krai — and spent a month in each.

During their ethnographic work, our researchers, in addition to collecting in-depth sociological interviews, observed public spaces in cities and how the war is reflected in them. They attended public events with patriotic and military themes, engaged in conversations with drivers, salespeople, bartenders, and manicurists, casually asking how the ‘special military operation’ has affected city life. Immediately after such interactions, they recorded the content of the conversations and their observations in ethnographic diaries. Thus, in addition to 75 interviews with residents of the three Russian regions, we managed to collect 698 pages (330,000 words) of detailed observations of everyday life during the war and conversations about the war in natural settings.

In this publication, we share the results of data analysis collected during one of these trips. The town of Cheremushkin, discussed below, does not exist on the map of the Sverdlovsk region; the name is fictitious, but there is a very real town behind it. All other names in this text have also been changed.

Somewhere in the Urals: the urban landscape against the backdrop of war

The Sverdlovsk Region is one of the ten most industrialised regions in Russia, Ekaterinburg is the fourth most populous city in the country, and the region itself is the fifth most populous region (4.2 million people), with 86% of its residents living in cities. According to Rosstat, the average per capita income in the Oblast in 2023 was 53.3 thousand rubles (almost equal to the national average of 51.3 thousand). At the same time, income growth reached 6.5% in real terms compared to the previous year, which is higher than the national growth rate (5.6%).

According to a study by 'Important Stories' and the Conflict Intelligence Team, the proportion of those mobilised in Sverdlovsk Oblast is almost at the national average (coefficient 1.1), about 10,000 people. According to the Ministry of Defence, in 2023, 12,500 residents of Sverdlovsk Oblast signed contracts to participate in the war in Ukraine, and by April 2024, another 2500 had signed up. Those who signed contracts were given a one-time payment of 100,000 rubles, and starting from June 2024, this amount was increased to 400,000 rubles, according to regional media reports.

The number of confirmed war casualties (according to the BBC and Mediazona project) is 1820, one of the highest among Russian regions, which, however, partly corresponds to the region's large population, which makes up 2.9% of Russia's population. The region's share in confirmed losses is 3.4%.

The territory of the modern Sverdlovsk Region has been home to the main Russian mining factories since the early 18th century. Accordingly, many settlements were formed around industrial enterprises. In some industrial cities of the Urals, the war had a significant impact on the economy: industries that had been in decline in recent years were now 'on a war footing', demand for products soared, wages increased, and specialists from other places began to arrive in the cities.

However, none of this happened in Cheremushkin, where we conducted our research. The population of Cheremushkin is about 12,000 people. A significant portion of residents work in the public sector and earn modest salaries. A relatively profitable employment option is in the wood-processing sector – ‘at the sawmill’. After the war began and sanctions were imposed, according to our interlocutors, this sector declined since most of the products were manufactured for export. Relatively close to Cheremushkin are several correctional colonies. Some town residents either work there themselves or know the staff and inmates personally. They are aware of what happens in the prisons, and news about the recruitment of prisoners is routine for many townspeople.

According to the residents of Cheremushkin, their town is quite poor by regional standards. Many homes lack centralised water supply and gas. Installing plumbing costs residents about 100,000 rubles – a prohibitive amount for many. According to our researcher who lived in Cheremushkin for about a month, the town’s infrastructure, daily life, and social organisation sometimes resemble a large village.

Cheremushkin has a 'classic' set of places and organisations that can be found in almost any Russian town of this size: a town square, a House of Culture, a museum, a church, several administrative buildings, schools and kindergartens. The town also has a few cafes, grocery and hardware stores, pharmacies, and beauty salons. Despite its small size, the town cannot be considered isolated – it is frequently passed through by tourists travelling in the Urals.

If you imagine a person falling asleep in Cheremushkin on the evening of 23 February 2022 and then waking up in the autumn of 2023,it would be difficult for them to guess that a war had been ongoing for over a year and a half. After walking around the town for several weeks, our researcher only encountered a few symbols to remind them of the conflict: two or three cars with ‘Z’ stickers and patriotic slogans, a couple of faded flags on the facade of the town hotel —–one with a ‘Z’ and another in the colours of the St. George ribbon, embedded in the building wall so they were barely visible. There is no advertising for contract military service or any symbols on the doors of government institutions

According to Tonya, a local businesswoman familiar with the urban context, the visible signs of war have almost completely disappeared in Cheremushkin over the past year: people have removed stickers from their cars, the formerly visible send-offs to the front, funerals and burials of the mobilised have ceased to attract the outside public, and townspeople are less likely to discuss the war among themselves.

There are practically no public spaces in Cheremushkin. Perhaps the only such place is the town cafe ‘Smile’, where our researcher went every day to have lunch, work on her laptop, or meet with informants. Although she tried to listen to what was being discussed at the neighbouring tables, she witnessed a conversation about the war only once. In the afternoon, a group of eight or nine smartly dressed men and women aged 50-55 gathered at Smile (it turned out to be a meeting of former classmates).

At one moment the music became quieter, and I managed to make out the words of the next toast made by one of the women:'Let's toast to victory!' The group supported the toast: 'To victory!' 'To victory!' As the clinking of glasses subsided, another woman's voice said, 'But when will our victory come?' The question was addressed to a tall, heavyset man with a deep voice. I could only catch a few words of his response: 'Poles', 'fascists', 'NATO'. At the end of his monologue, the woman replied, 'Oh, so it’s going to be a while...' Another woman picked up the conversation: 'When I was young, I always thought about World War II and felt sorry I didn't live at that time – I really wanted to perform a heroic deed! But now I think: what a fool I was! Now I understand that I definitely couldn’t do it'. I couldn't make out the man's response again, only that the conversation turned to Prigozhin. About ten minutes after the 'victory' toast, the conversation shifted to everyday topics, and the discussion of politics and the war did not resume (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

It is difficult to assess how typical this case is. Perhaps the topic was picked up and moved from a ceremonial context to a pressing issue (‘But when will our victory come?’) because there was an ‘expert’ at the table (it later turned out that the man was a retired FSB officer). It is noteworthy that the topic of the war was easily picked up without causing tension among those present and just as easily let go, dissolving into everyday chatter without sparking significant interest.

In the absence of public spaces, many townspeople actively use the local community page on a social network. According to informants, in the early days after the invasion, people voiced their opinions and engaged in discussions about the war there. Over time, however, ‘undesirable’ comments and posts (sometimes along with their authors) began to be quickly removed from the page, likely by one of the group administrators, a local official.

Alevtina Nikiforovna, a retired woman working part-time as a cleaner and housekeeper, with whom our researcher developed a trusting relationship, explained that comments critical of the war began to be ‘attacked’, and their authors were bombarded with typical insults (‘dill’). Moreover, one of Cheremushkin's residents was fined a significant amount by local standards for reposting a video with anti-war content. This news spread by word of mouth (the researcher heard it from several people), after which townspeople stopped leaving comments and even reactions to news on social networks.

A prayer service, a marquee, a concert: public events and institutional support for the war

In the first months after the war began and later after mobilisation was announced, Cheremushkin held official ‘patriotic’ and ‘volunteer’ events aimed at glorifying the ‘special military operation’ (SMO) and supporting the front: ceremonial send-offs for the mobilised, public funerals for townspeople killed in the war, volunteer collections based at the local museum, collective weaving of camouflage nets, and more. According to informants, the intensity of these events has decreased over the past year. At the time of our researcher’s arrival in the town, her interlocutors could not recall a single public event related to the war that had taken place in recent months.

There are no war-related organisations operating on a permanent basis in Cheremushkin – no volunteer associations, centres for patriotic education, or collection points for aid to soldiers. Public activities can only unfold at existing venues — the cultural centre, the local history museum, the library, the church, the school — and often depend on the enthusiasm of individuals. For example, our researcher was told that the collection of humanitarian aid for the front at the museum was managed by its director, Pyotr Ivanovich. However, at the time of the researcher's visit, there were no traces of this collection at the museum, and the director himself did not mention it in the interview.

One of the interlocutors, Lyubov Vasilyevna, a retiree and active participant in town events, informed our researcher that at the beginning of the war, the Department of Culture and Youth Policy at the administration also collected money for the needs of the front in a semi-voluntary manner: ‘Culture told us... donate what you can.’ She spoke about this initiative without enthusiasm and as something that had become irrelevant.

Amid the general decline in interest in the war among townspeople, one person stands out – the priest of the local church, Father Konstantin. He recently travelled to the front, where he conducted memorial services and blessed soldiers. In Cheremushkin, Father Konstantin regularly organises so-called prayer services for those fighting. Contrary to the researcher’s expectations that the priest would use theological arguments to justify the war, in his interview with her, he spoke in secular terms, using television clichés — for instance, he seriously discussed the threat posed by ‘foreign agents’ and ‘traitors to the homeland’. The priests of two other churches in neighbouring villages either ignored any attempts to steer the conversation about the war into a religious-dogmatic context or actively resisted them.

To the researcher, the priest gave the impression of a convinced, ideological supporter of the war. At least, his public activities, such as prayer services and trips to the front, seemed more like a manifestation of personal enthusiasm. Our researcher managed to attend two prayer services organised by Father Konstantin. At the first one no more than 15 people attended. After the service, the priest briefly told the audience how he had spent a month at the front, blessing the soldiers for battle, and added that they were all 'doing well, defending the Motherland' and that they 'need prayer, they need God'.

At the second prayer service there were twice as many people. The regular congregation was joined by women who, according to Daria, a teacher and active churchgoer, are relatives of the soldiers. In the hands of those gathered, the researcher noticed folders with lists of names for prayers for health (all the names were male). One of the subsections of the list was entitled 'Peaceful inhabitants of Donbas'. The hour-long prayer service concluded with a sermon by Father Konstantin, where he recommended 'not to relax', 'to unite not only at the front, but also here in the church' and 'to pray as much as possible that our loved ones return alive and healthy', because victory in the 'sacred special military operation' is 'behind us' (ethnographic diary, September 2023).

Thus, on the one hand, Father Konstantin creates an ideologically charged space around him. However, it appears to attract a limited circle of the same people. In this sense, Cheremushkin is no different from the rest of Russia, where only about 9% of people attend church at least once a month.

From day one, our researcher followed city announcements and scrupulously studied information boards and posters, expecting to find in Cheremushkin the fruits of massive institutional support for the war. The first find was the announcement of the film 'Witness' in the cinema at the House of Culture. This is a propaganda film that aims to present an alternative view of the events in the Ukrainian city of Bucha and to challenge the version that the war crimes were committed there by soldiers of the Russian army.

Anticipating the possibility of witnessing something ethnographically valuable, I leave the 'Smile' and head to the nearby House of Culture (DK). It’s 5:55 PM, but the DK lobby is completely empty. I speak to the bored ticket seller and find out that I’m the first person to arrive for the screening — not a single ticket has been sold yet. I settle on a bench opposite the entrance, hoping to catch sight of any potential visitors, but in the next 15 minutes, not a single person enters the DK. I ask the ticket seller if this happens often. According to her, 'not often, but it does happen' (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

Interestingly, another film event – a film night in a tent on the square announced and organised by the DK – similarly did not take place. Our researcher decided to attend the event because the program included a film with patriotic content. However, upon arriving at the square, she found neither the tent nor any signs of public life.

The researcher's greatest expectations were related to the concert — the 'opening of the creative season' in the Cultural Centre under the title 'We do not abandon our own'. The poster of the 'charity concert in support of the participants of the special military operation' appeared on the notice board a couple of weeks in advance.

In the DK lobby, directly opposite the entrance, a camouflage net is being prepared. Nearby, a woman in a ‘folklore’ costume is trying to figure out how to weave it. Close by, a group of 11-13-year-old children are playing on a tablet on the sofas. To the right of the net is a stand with photographs of people in military uniforms labelled ‘Defenders of the Fatherland’. Most of the photographs are reports on patriotic activities: school children writing letters to soldiers, women weaving nets and knitting socks, men in camouflage loading boxes of humanitarian aid into vehicles. In one of the photos, I notice Father Konstantin posing with a trench candle. On the other side is an installation and photo zone styled as a ‘Russian peasant house’ with a samovar and traditional shirts. Another woman in a red dress and kokoshnik sits in front of a pile of bath brooms (apparently a master class on broom-making).

The opening number in the hall features about ten people on stage, all with microphones. Among them are the DK’s methodologist, the ensemble leader, a library employee, and an actor from the local theatre. They perform an upbeat song:

We wish you love.

We wish you wealth...

You'll reach for your star,

Enjoying your victory

You'll get your star

Enjoying your cherished victory

(ethnographic diary, September 2023).

As it later turned out, the song is called ‘Happy Birthday!’, with a first-person singular lyrical message. The song was probably chosen to open the event because of the word 'victory,' which is emphasised in the final lines of the chorus. However, in the original lyrics, the victory mentioned does not pertain to a battlefield, but rather to an abstract individual achievement of the birthday person. The performers' stage presence also did not evoke any images of war or current socio-political events. All the subsequent performances were typical of Russian cultural centres and barely adapted to the theme of the event:

A presenter comes on stage and solemnly announces: 'Today we are opening the creative season. This means it’s time to talk about those who cannot imagine their lives without creativity and share it with all of you... Allow me to introduce the most numerous and famous folk group of our city — the choreographic ensemble ‘Firebird’! Taking advantage of the pause between acts, I look around, trying to make out the composition of the audience in the dark hall. The overwhelming majority are pensioners. There are a few young women, probably mothers of the children involved in the concert. And a few middle-aged women who look like school teachers or cultural officials, likely attending due to their job responsibilities.

After the Firebird, several other musical groups perform: ‘Flutter’, ‘Singing Birches’, and the vocal-instrumental ensemble ‘Allegro’. The repertoire is either folk/‘Russian folk’ with appropriate costumes and visuals, or pop (popular Russian and Soviet songs with instrumental backing) (ethnographic diary, September 2023).

The only direct reference to the ‘special military operation’ was made by the host towards the end of the program, but it did not develop further:

Presenter: 'Our meeting today is held under the motto 'We do not abandon our own'. The concert, dedicated to the opening of the creative season, is a charity event. All collected funds will be directed to support our compatriots participating in the ‘special military operation’. We invite Valentina Sergeevna Zubikova, head of the Department of Culture, Tourism and Youth Policy of the Cheremushkin City Administration, to the stage!' Contrary to my expectations, Valentina Sergeyevna's speech contained only one indirect reference to the war ('...To the collectives and their leaders, I wish the most important thing — creative success, new dances, new songs, new compositions. I wish everyone health, health, and more health! And peaceful skies above. Good luck to all!'). The concert ends with a children's dance featuring elements of breakdancing, with the children now in jeans and colourful shirts instead of traditional Russian costumes. The song 'Young and Daring, Forward!'...

Everyone disperses, only two women linger by the photo wall, discussing mutual acquaintances they noticed in the pictures (ethnographic diary, September 2023).

As previously mentioned, in the early months of the war, according to the interviewees, various pro-war public events were held in Cheremushkin. However, over time, only entertainment events remained. Even these retained a military component only in their names and announcements. Some of them exist only on paper, others are hardly different from events familiar to residents of small Russian towns, and still others, such as the aforementioned prayer services, are in very limited demand and essentially remain on the periphery of public life.

For someone who fell asleep on February 23, 2022, and woke up in Cheremushkin in the fall of 2023, it would take considerable effort to become aware of the war: it is not only almost invisible in the city landscape, but it is also rarely spoken about on the streets or in local social media groups. Public events contain only the external attributes of the patriotic narrative. The sense of the war fading from everyday life was aptly summarised by a local resident in a conversation with the researcher: ‘If it weren't for the periodic news of deaths and the funerals, one could forget about the war entirely’. This statement indicates that complete oblivion still does not occur.

Death, money, family. The moral triad of a small town

Peeking behind the scenes of everyday life in Cheremushkin became possible thanks to Tonya, the main interviewee of our researcher, who knew her before coming to the town. Tonya is a young entrepreneur originally from Cheremushkin. She owns the aforementioned café ‘Smile’ and the beauty salon ‘Style’. Tonya is an exemplary member of the local community, enjoying high social status and extensive connections. Various residents of Cheremushkin, from administration and police staff to housewives and drivers, visit Smile to have lunch, celebrate birthdays, or just chat. Since there are not many job opportunities in the town, both of Tonya's businesses serve an important social function. Older townspeople know Tonya's parents, who have a good reputation in the town. Due to all these factors, Tonya enjoys widespread respect in the town.

At the same time, Tonya is a person with a 'metropolitan' background. She received her higher education in Moscow and has many friends in Ekaterinburg, St Petersburg and other major cities. She is well-versed in the news agenda and reads all the major independent media. In her interactions with others, Tonya generally does not hide her opposition and anti-war views, but at the same time she does not impose them on anyone. She perfectly reads the unspoken conventions of communication, within which it is rather unacceptable to discuss 'politics'. In conversations with other townspeople, she regularly expresses dissatisfaction with the consequences of the war (rising prices, the threat of mobilisation of her employees, etc.) but doesn't raise questions about the moral, ethical, or political justification of the war, knowing she would not be understood. In her interactions with local administration representatives, Tonya avoids raising the topic of the war altogether.

Tonya was aware of the research project's purpose and immediately showed great interest. Thanks to her initiative and position in the local community, the researcher gained access to the circle of everyday friendly interactions among the townspeople. People felt comfortable with the outsider because they completely trusted Tonya.

In different groups, war-related topics occasionally came up on their own, but more often, Tonya subtly steered the conversation in the ‘right’ direction (e.g., by asking about the fresh news of Prigozhin's rebellion or mentioning someone they knew who was at the front). These delicate manoeuvres sparked discussions on war-related subjects. On one hand, these discussions faded as easily as they started – the interlocutors quickly switched to other topics. It was clear that the war with Ukraine was not a topic of constant reflection and discussion for them. On the other hand, there was always something to talk about related to the war. Unlike the reasons and goals of the war, its effects and consequences concerned them and became regular discussion topics.

Not many residents of Cheremushkin were sent to the front: according to Tonya's acquaintances, about 20 inmates were taken to war from the nearby colony, approximately 60 city dwellers were mobilised, and another 20 volunteered. However, as a result, every resident of the town, if not directly, then through a handshake, had become acquainted with people who had returned from the war, perished in the war, or are currently at the front. Therefore, any news of death, deployment to the front, or return from the war becomes a public event. Cheremushkin knows no anonymity.

The focus is primarily on news of the deaths of acquaintances. ‘Our relative Vladik died there. He got blown up. What does that mean? In April, it seemed to have started... no, he got blown up in March, and they only brought him back for burial in June’, shared Zhanna, a nurse at the local hospital (ethnographic diary, August 2023). The death of a person, especially if they were well-known and respected in the town, can evoke collective emotions and sorrow. A vivid example is the death of a mobilised schoolteacher who returned in a coffin seven days after leaving Cheremushkin, never having reached the front. The death of the young man, who was ‘adored by everyone’ for his human qualities and love for children, became a tragedy for the town. According to accounts, people at the funeral wept with pity and a sense of injustice.

In conversations, residents of Cheremushkin express regret over deaths, especially when it comes to sending very young people to war. ‘They just came back from the army!’ exclaimed manicurist Alena, for example. Her colleague Lyuda echoed, ‘They send children to fight!’ (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

Such discussions provoke criticism of the military conflict, which places the blame for its outbreak on the abstract 'powers that be' who achieve their goals at the cost of ordinary people's lives. 'These bastards are dividing the fucking land! And our boys are just fucking dying because they can't divide this land!' Lyuda summarises succinctly. This criticism, however, is not transformed into criticism of the Russian government (although it would seem that it is by its decision that people are mobilised for war), and the question of the responsibility of any particular individuals is not raised at all.

A powerful antithesis to war is the paradigm of family values, against which military actions can unquestionably be condemned. Pensioner Lyubov Vasilyevna, who worked for many years at the House of Culture, recalling the death of another young man whose body did not return to Cheremushkin (‘He was a good boy, played the accordion... There wasn't even anything to bury! Boot and a foot in the boot!’), immediately shifts from the deceased's personality to a broader, more meaningful family context for her: ‘A mother has one son, she raised him alone, without a husband. There was a husband, but they separated. And one son, and the years already... If only he had left a child. Girls, war is very scary!’ (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

Lyubov Vasilyevna, like other women interviewed by the researcher, perceives the war as a threat to families, including those on the Ukrainian side: ‘I don't know where now – so many have already been killed – where can Ukrainian girls find grooms? Where to find grooms if they are all wiped out?’ Throughout her conversation with Tonya and our researcher, Lyubov Vasilyevna repeatedly spoke about the ‘oppression of Russian people in Crimea and Donbas’ and even came to a conclusion that was unsettling for herself: to end the war sooner, it is necessary to take Kyiv (‘I think if Kyivan Rus' existed – so take Kyiv already. Take the Kyiv region, Kyiv’). However, the integrity of the family is such an important issue for her that in discussing this topic, disagreements with the ‘enemy country’ temporarily lose significance for her, and the propagandist narrative takes a back seat.

Finally, another important topic related to the war is money and everything associated with it (earnings, benefits, payments, purchases). For residents of relatively modest Cheremushkin, these are no less concerning topics than death and family. Unlike in big cities, questions about earnings and spending in Cheremushkin are by no means private. If someone buys a new car, does repairs, or receives a high salary, the whole town knows about it. The war has created many instances of such ‘economic news’ in Cheremushkin.

People actively discuss military earnings: the amount of war wages, 'coffin' money and social payments. Thus, while visiting Tonya, her classmates Artyom and Vitya recalled common acquaintances who went to war: 'Mikhailov says: 'I have 180,000 in salary, I'm high'’. The nurse Zhanna shared with Tonya that, according to her acquaintance who returned from the war, there is '220 a month, all the utilities, everything is paid'.

And Tonya's friend Kolya, who himself spent several years in prison in his youth, told the story of the enrichment of an acquaintance: the girl entered into a correspondence marriage with a prisoner while he was still in jail, soon after he was recruited to the Wagner PMC. ‘He fought for three months, got killed. He was an orphan, he immediately transferred everything to her. She got seven million. She went on a three-day date!’ Kolya concluded with laughter. In addition to earnings, residents of Cheremushkin discuss purchases with war money: cars or, for example, gold jewellery, which, according to Svetlana, one of the guests at a ‘women's’ gathering, ‘are only bought by those who receive money from the special forces’ (ethnographic diary, August-September 2023).

Money is present as an important motive in discussing family-ethical conflicts related to the war. One such case is the behaviour of the widow of a deceased teacher. With ‘coffin money’, she bought an expensive car and, a month after her husband's death, was seen ‘happily’ dancing at a disco (according to townspeople). The widow's case was ‘reviewed’ by Nurse Zhanna, who visited Tonya. Zhanna recounted that the widow is considered a ‘promiscuous woman’ and a ‘party girl’. However, her verdict differed from the public opinion: ‘But what else can she do? Her life goes on, in fact’ (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

A similar case was discussed at a ‘women's’ gathering at one of the beauty salon employees' homes. Manicure artist Alena spoke about a well-known character in town: ‘We just have girls like Petrova. She bought a car with the money that came from her husband. And in that same car, she is fooling around with her lover. And everyone knows about it! He comes back from the war, and she’s like a little bunny, hopping here and there. And that's it, the husband is gone, and she’s off again, damn it!’

The morality of 'wartime' is actualised in its projection onto the Great Patriotic War. Lyubov Vasilyevna views the war through her Soviet upbringing and cultural work experience. For her, 'war' is primarily the Great Patriotic War. It concerns her mainly as a topic she worked with all her conscious life (she is still regularly invited to various town events to give speeches or read poems about the Great Patriotic War or the war in Afghanistan). In conversation with Tonya and our researcher, she decided to read Konstantin Simonov's poem 'Open Letter'. It describes the story of a woman who decides not to wait for her husband from the war and leaves for another. Before reading, Lyubov Vasilyevna exclaimed: 'And this poem is still relevant! The war is still going on, so it is still relevant.' After reading, she added: 'This is 1943, I think. And now there is a war in Ukraine. Girls, wives — wait! Don’t act like pigs, so he sends money, and you stay here. Back in the Soviet days, they kept an eye on morality.' The specific circumstances of the war in Ukraine are completely dissolved, and the existence of the 'new' war serves to highlight the poem.

Money, undoubtedly a measure of success, is not coincidentally a trigger for moral dilemmas. They are once again contrasted here with family values. The interviewees generally do not agree with the advisability of making money from the war, which is destructive for the family, which is given special significance by them.

For example, Zhanna explains why her acquaintance does not want to return to the front: 'Well, the wife is at home, and they need to start having children. It's not certain that he will come back. He might end up wounded, unable to move on his own. And who will need him then?' During the conversation, Zhanna emphasised this position: 'I believe that no amount of money is worth a life… Even if he dies and they give those payments, it's all bullshit – the person is gone' (ethnographic diary, August 2023). The participants of the 'women's' gathering, during the discussion of the war and money, came to a similar conclusion: 'It’s not worth it.'

'You'd better work the sawmill': critical modes and gender polemics

In addition to purchases, residents of Cheremushkin discuss wartime expenses that fall on the shoulders of soldiers and their families – for body armour, equipment, vehicles, gasoline, and other supplies. The necessity of such expenses further strengthens their opinion on the impracticality of such earnings. Nurse Zhanna, responding to Tonya's question about why her friend's husband refused to go to war despite the opportunity to earn money, stated that it wasn't profitable: 'They buy everything themselves – spare parts, shoes' (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

During a 'women's' gathering, Lyuda, an employee of the beauty salon, almost shouted: 'Let me tell you more! When her son joined the military, she took out a loan of 100,000 to fully outfit him!' Another colleague, Alena, echoed: 'We took out 180, 180! To buy all this gear!' Lyuda interrupted, exclaiming: 'You understand, parents themselves buy these protections, helmets, boots, gloves, all this crap!' (ethnographic diary, August 2023). The necessity of spending money on equipment made speakers feel injustice, and this feeling sometimes transformed into critical statements towards the authorities. In response to the intentionally naive question from the researcher about why ordinary people should pay for the war, directed at Alena and Lyuda, one of them responded with an emphatic comment: 'Are you asking me? Ask the government!' (ethnographic diary, August 2023).

More often than not, our interlocutors begin to criticise the war by sharing 'insider' information from acquaintances at the front that does not coincide with the official propaganda image of the ‘special military operation’. For example, thirty-year-old auto service employee Vitya passionately explained to those present: 'What they say on TV is all bullshit! The guys who are fighting there now, they say, don't trust anyone. What our Ministry of Defence reports, that we have minimal losses – it's all crap. People are dying every day from both sides' (ethnographic diary, September 2023). Recounts of such firsthand testimonies regularly circulate in the urban community, which thus remains well aware of the enormous losses borne by both sides.

The wartime situation has highlighted the Ukrainian origins of some city residents in an unexpected light for Cheremushkin residents. At the 'women's' gathering, participants began discussing a local resident who moved to Cheremushkin from Donbas after the events of 2014. According to Alena and Marina, such people with Ukrainian passports enjoy significant privileges: 'Mortgages and stuff, she has everything now. They get it all handed to them. And us – good luck asking, and here’s what you get – nothing’. Interestingly, the girls were interested only in the economic aspect, not the political or ethnic one. Throughout her time in Cheremushkin, the researcher never heard anyone speak disdainfully or suspiciously about local residents with Ukrainian roots. Only the closely related money issue prompted the speakers to single out Ukrainian acquaintances into a separate group.

Similarly, in the 'male' group, Vitya and Artem recalled the topic of Ukraine when discussing the high cost of connecting gas in Cheremushkin. 'Gas in Russia is fucking expensive', Vitya exclaimed. 'They'll lay the pipes alright, but to get it home – two hundred bucks', Artem chimed in. 'Although you know, for a long time now – guys, damn it, those who are at war now, they say: 'Pipes, damn it, pipes everywhere in Ukraine!'' Vitya elaborated on the thought. 'And in the villages', Artem added, and Vitya agreed, 'Yeah, and in the villages, damn it, gas, damn it! In Ukraine!' (ethnographic diary, September 2023). It was precisely the unexpected difference in basic living conditions that evoked genuine feelings of outrage in the young men.

Among most residents of Cheremushkino, 'politics' is not a frequent topic of conversation. Our researcher discovered a whole arsenal of phrases from her interlocutors to block discussions on 'sensitive' topics: 'let's close the topic of politics, I've had enough of it on TV', 'anything but war, please', 'we're simple people, we don't understand much about politics', and so on.

But in Cheremushkin,there are residents who differ in this aspect from the majority. For example, there is a small circle of Tonya's opposition-minded friends: Pasha, who is involved in the automobile business and often travels to Moscow, and Kolya, a charismatic figure whose socialisation was significantly influenced by a juvenile correctional facility. An evening spent in their company significantly differed from other gatherings. The attendees spent most of the evening discussing political topics. Pasha, Kolya, and Tonya exchanged opinions on the latest news and statements from various opposition bloggers. For them, these discussions are part of their regular experience and identity.

However, even those Cheremushkin residents, for whom politics is primarily something that is what they ‘see on TV', discuss the war in different ways depending on their social and individual experience. For example, there is a gender difference in the view of war. During a sit-down in 'male' company, participants Vitya, Artem and Lesha actively discussed the 'technical side' of the war: weapons, transport, uniforms, camp arrangements, as well as colourful, from their point of view, episodes of combat encounters. The young men exchanged impressions about the content of documentary videos from the front, which they periodically watch, and argued passionately about 'grenades', 'Kalashnikovs' and 'machine gun nests'. War, for them, is akin to a series with distinctly ‘masculine’ attributes (ethnographic diary, September 2023).

Women, on the contrary, as previously mentioned, are concerned about the issue of family, for whom 'military temptations' appear destructive. For them, war presents a specific threat — the loss of a husband or son. During a 'women's' gathering, Lyuda emotionally exclaimed, addressing her son (who did not participate in the gathering, but everyone present knew he had considered joining the war): 'People go to the army to fight for money. Fuck, I won't send you to fight for money!' Alena immediately echoed Lyuda's words: 'Fuck your money, why do I need them? I'll earn those 200 thousand myself and I'll know that I have everything and my family is healthy. I'll buy myself those earrings, and I'll have a man by my side. I would never send my man to certain death!'

The female participants in the conversation solidarise with each other, arguing against the supposed 'male' logic that war is an easy way to make money. 'You're going because of the money? What the fuck do you need them for?' Luda agreed with her: 'They go stupidly because of money. My kid said: I'll go to the special military operation. I said: I won't fucking stand up, I'll lay down my fucking bones, but you're not going anywhere.' Alena continued, parodying the 'man': 'I'd rather earn money there. I'd rather earn 200 thousand there than work at a sawmill here'. You'd better work at the sawmill!' (ethnographic diary, Cheremushkin, August 2023).

Parallel Cheremushkin: the war 'behind the scenes' and the dilemma of complicity

According to our researcher's observations and the testimonies of her interlocutors, people in Cheremushkin are tired of the topic of 'war'. In the urban landscape, there are practically no visible signs of it anymore, and townspeople discuss war less frequently both online and among themselves. Institutional support for the war has noticeably waned: public events are either held 'on paper' or retain only a formal shell, losing their military-patriotic content and dissolving into familiar formats with minimal hints of the current political context.

Rare exceptions, such as ideologically 'charged' spaces like the church, are popular among a limited circle of regular parishioners. This situation contrasts with the early years of the war when citizen 'involvement' and organisational efforts to engage them in 'solidarity with the front' were at a higher level.

At the same time, 'war' remains present in the life of the small town 'off-screen.' News of deaths and the dispatch of acquaintances to the front instantly becomes public knowledge and resonates deeply. The deaths of local residents, of course, evoke collective emotions. War also constantly infiltrates key and widely discussed spheres of life: family relationships and livelihoods. The strong narratives of local life created by war – from deaths and romantic betrayals to news about salaries, purchases, and expenditures of acquaintances – challenge the usual routine and pose new moral dilemmas.

Depending on their social and individual experiences, townspeople are interested in different aspects of the war. For a small circle of opposition-minded Cheremushkin residents, political and media events become objects of attention and serve as topics for regular discussions, while most residents try to avoid talking about politics.

Women see the war as a threat to the health and lives of their husbands and sons. Young men, whose acquaintances share news from the front with them, show more curiosity about the 'internal kitchen' of the war: videos of firefights, types of weapons, transport, provisions, and so on. Older people, bearers of a kind of 'Soviet' cultural mentality, may perceive the current war through the stable set of images from the Great Patriotic War.

High salaries and payments to volunteer contract soldiers generate a whole layer of narratives in discussions about the war, but do not significantly affect attitudes toward it. On the one hand, some men view the war as an opportunity to earn money, especially in situations where other paths to earning are difficult or closed. On the other hand, the women our researcher encountered insist that no amount of money is worth death in war and the destruction of family.

Most of our interviewees agree that people go to war either involuntarily (if they were 'taken'), for earnings, or to escape a bad life situation (for example, if they failed to achieve anything, start a family, etc.). However, such criticism does not lead them to question the necessity and inevitability of war, nor does it prompt a critical view of the actions of the Russian authorities. In response to uncomfortable questions about the 'political' meaning of the war, most interviewees rhetorically defend themselves using various clichés offered by propaganda (significantly, these are not used when Cheremushkin residents discuss issues that they understand and are close to).

One way or another, the residents of Cheremushkin express emotions about the war and complain about it. People are upset that young people are dying in war, and also resent the need for combatants to buy their own uniforms, weapons, food and clothing. In general, everyone is ready to agree that war is 'bad' and 'scary'; some interlocutors, in particular, admitted that they cannot understand the meaning of the war.

According to our researcher's observations, information about significant human losses during the war is no secret to townspeople, and the funerals of local mobilised individuals and volunteers allow them to witness this firsthand. At the same time, despite a wide range of emotions regarding the war's damage and the suffering it causes to Ukraine and its residents, discussions about this are only held by staunch opponents of the 'special operation.' For most Russians who justify the war while simultaneously being dissatisfied with its various aspects, criticising the war as a crime against Ukrainians is not relevant. Moreover, such criticism compels them to justify Russia's actions in its effort to avoid the dilemma of complicity.