Pulp Fiction

When a journalist friend of mine left Moscow for Crimea at the beginning of the summer to write an essay about the problems of this beautiful peninsula, her superiors gave her the following parting words: “Well, you yourself know how Crimea lives now: the growth of nationalist sentiments, the slogans “Down with the Russians!” Undoubtedly, these sentiments will now intensify due to the influx of holidaymakers. We must try to meet with those who are already preparing anti-Russian speeches and are planning to throw stones at visitors. The second important topic is teachers who, despite everything, continue to teach in Russian. Find out through friends - suddenly they will find you such teachers, one, or better yet two or three. Let them tell you about systematic threats, about Molotov cocktails flying through their windows, about how they are ready to give up everything and go to Russia."

And so our Russian traveler arrived in Crimea and began to communicate with the local residents. Carefully, trying not to excite these same nationalist feelings too much, she started a conversation that, of course, it was possible to explain the reasons why Crimeans hate Russians, then asked to introduce her to some nationalist terrorist.

The interlocutors, one and all, began to climb the wall and repeat, almost in tears: “We have no anti-Russian sentiments, demonstrations or nationalist detachments. You see, no!” And the brotherhood of peoples has nothing to do with it. It’s just that for everyone who lives here, there is one God - the holiday season! The task of every Crimean is to cut down as many dollars, hryvnia or rubles as possible during this season. And anyone who begins to prepare for this in some other way - for example, by drawing banners saying “Russians out!”, preparing Molotov cocktails - will be calmed down by their own relatives. Everyone here is interested in only one thing - absolute peace. Therefore, the actions of the native Ukrainian government, which turns off the lights in sanatoriums and creates traffic jams on the state border, are treated with hatred here. And Russian teachers do not survive here, because almost all schools here are Russian. It’s hard to find a real Ukrainian school here: the peninsula is entirely Russian-speaking.

“But every year,” her interlocutors repeated bitterly, “in all respected Russian publications we read about an almost impending wave of pogroms. At first we were sure that our Sochi competitors were paying for these materials. But then we realized that they didn’t have enough money to such a massive psychological attack. Why, in the end, are you not interested in the real life of Crimea?"

This woeful "Why?" is very reminiscent of the cries with which our politicians and journalists constantly address their Western colleagues, who stubbornly choose only two topics from all the diversity of our lives - the mafia and prostitutes. We are outraged by those who consume this information and those who produce it. However, as it turns out, they are quite capable of reproducing the same standard of behavior, and not only in relation to Crimea.

But there are people who are able to laugh at these cliches. In the famous film "Happiness" by Todd Solondz, an emigrant from Russia meets a young, naive American woman. The girl is interested in what the Russian hero did in his homeland. He openly admits that he was connected with the criminal world. “Oh,” drawls the American woman, “you were part of a mafia clan!” “No, why?” her interlocutor replies offendedly. “I just stole.”