Migrants. The exit of the owner

I first saw the Bones in 2002. That is, half of my friends from the courtyard were skinheads, wore a pilot's jackets and so on. We were all from the families of the employees of the Timiryazev Academy (the average salary - 3000 rubles), it was fashionable to go fishing, burn bonfires from garbage, read the Brotherhood magazine and want to go to Chechnya to become a man. The factory of the skinhead-culture of our class was Robik Baghdasarov-the ethnic question did not stand then. That is, I knew skinheads. After many years, I had to see the Nazis completely different.

They told me about them for a long time: about how they are organized, how dangerous, that there are gangs are weer and gangs stronger that they are all interconnected, that some already astronomically powerful and organized groups reign over them-invincible and merciless ones. I didn’t understand anything, but I really wanted to see these elite combat formations - once we walked along the square, and a friend pushed me to the side: “Do not turn around.” I turned around - in the square near the fountains there was a group of guys in the clothes of Kasilua, fashionable in those years. Lick, round faces, slightly swollen from the heat and beer. Stupid, watery eyes. Early turned up. I looked at them for a second and went on with a calm heart. These were just Muscovites, Russians - obviously none of them were going to Chechnya.

I first saw Eshnikov in 2008. There were the funeral of our friend Fedor, the police planned the raid in the cemetery, at the last moment we transferred everything to the Moscow Region. Like thieves, they made their way with a coffin along the mud with a long narrow crowd. When everything was finished, the guys noticed a group of youth between birches at the entrance to the cemetery - they already thought of attacking them, but it turned out that these were employees of the newly made center for the fight against extremism. I looked at the "echonniks" for a second - there will be no good regime from this organization. The same Casual clothing (only more expensive), the same hairstyles, the same eyes, the same faces - love to eat. I began to look at life even more calmly.

Lick, round faces, slightly swollen from the heat and beer. Stupid, watery eyes.

Over the past 20 years, the Russians relaxed very much. Most plunged into the apathy of a heavily beaten, smaller - I realized that I just had to go to the bathhouse with whom I need and rob. This is a very lazy model, spirituality is encouraged in it: the rich cannot rationally explain their wealth, and the poor - their poverty and humiliation. Patriotism is also encouraged: if you can’t connect why you are happy or exhausted, with any of your personal qualities, you can associate this with the fact that you belong to the nation of the overlords/martyrs. The country of electricians, locksmiths and drivers turns into a cheerful ethnographic booth - but since there is still nothing to do, then this will do.

Some person in his life never thought about his nationality or nationality of his colleagues, was indifferent to religion-but the era of Fatum has come, and now he is a Russian/Chechen/Kalmyk, now he is rubbing his forehead, picking prayers in Arabic or Old Bulgarian-whatever happens. All the same, nothing needs to be done: if this person is influential, his wealth itself grows in Cyprus, if the beggar - he has already planted potatoes, also grows - everything with God's help.

Over the past 20 years, the Russians relaxed. Most plunged into the apathy of a heavily beaten, smaller - I realized that I just had to go to the bathhouse with whom I need.

Of course, there is nothing new here. In Western countries, multiculturalism plays exactly the same role of social placebo. “The Indian cooks well - he is a good cook, the Chinese quickly sews - his place is at the sewing machine” and so on. In principle, this resembles the Stalinist model of the relationship of peoples within the Union. But here, nevertheless, the main role is played by profession, work, and not nationality in itself - and, of course, no one in the world is forced to learn the national language to obtain a working view of residence. This issue arises only in the process of obtaining citizenship, after many years-our candidates for mayors understood something wrong. In developed countries like the United States there are entire regions where they do not speak English-and for many generations-it does not interfere with anyone, because everyone is busy with their own affairs.

But when there is actually no their affairs and is not expected, but there is the same apathy - young owners go on stage. They are not subjected to their actions to ostracism not because society approves their views and actions, but because no one can say anything significant against - in a society in which all possible steps lead to mother. "And then what to do?" - The main Russian question, to which everyone, in fact, knows the answer and know that he always leads to prison in our realities.

In developed countries like the United States there are entire regions where they do not speak English, this does not bother anyone, because everyone is busy with their own affairs.

The owners with jokes and laughter begin to fulfill their historical role. Why each of them does it personally - all questions for Sartre, in the "childhood of the owner" this topic is disclosed exhaustively. I personally weak in psychoanalysis and see what I see - stupid and helpless barchuks under the protection of the police: whether it be fighters with pedophiles, “smoking mixtures” or illegal immigrants. After they are shown on state channels-with open faces they beat some people, laughing. This should probably look energetic or frightening, but, like all other performances planned by the Kremlin intakes, these also turned out to be a tap-lip. This is, of course, with the fact that the Kremlin intakes are Russians themselves and the Rotozai. What the hell: hundreds of thousands of people for the first time in twenty years spontaneously went out into the streets with political demands, in Moscow there is a repressive trial against citizens, which has not yet been since Soviet times-and it turns out that some “smoking mixes” should be most worried about us-I don’t even know what it is.

Swannons and immigrants, of course, are sorry. But, however, there is no need to fix in this too - sooner or later a vigorous nationalist, who gives hopes to the student of a Moscow university, will fly into the head of a scrap from an open door, and their organization will be covered. In the end, the question of immigrants is a question about ourselves. The leadership, as it were, tells us all: “Well, what are you, what have you come up with? Let's back - remember how good it was with Potkin marching, how cool it was “purgatory” with Dmitry Nagiyev to watch - Kashka and Volgodonsk again. Throw all this, there is an interesting topic - it requires popular solidarity: we hired a lot of wipers. Let's again-“Zi-and-ig ...” ”

The leadership invites us back, to visit a metaphysical borat, where we are familiar with everything. It seems to me that they have no chance: after they showed a giant crowd with metal barriers instead of shields on TV, the whole country realized that the rest, whether it was national or spiritual, was only a “swan lake”.