The main secret of the FSIN

It turns out that even in the zone you can arrange everything in a human way. So, it means that the charter does not interfere?

I hesitated for a long time whether to tell this story or not. On the one hand, this is a wonderful story about kindness, about duty, and about how you can work well in the system, be helpful and compassionate, and probably not even suspect that it could be otherwise, that it happens somewhere else. On the other hand, in the system they won’t pat them on the head for this, they don’t like them there, they identify them and spread rot in every possible way. That is, my characters may suffer because they are beautiful.

Therefore, I will write without any geographical details.

It all started with the fact that employees of a distant, strict zone turned to us in "Rus Sitting" by word of mouth. I can’t say that employees often turned to us, and specifically for convicts, this happened for the first time. The story is this: they have a guy, Sergei. He has been sitting for a long time, and he will sit for another 4 years. And his wife, Olesya, went on dates with him, now she will give birth in two months. And it so happened that she had no job, no housing, no registration. By the way, he does too. Employees are fussing about where she can rent a corner and make registration, and help with the child, but the problem is that the zone, as usual, is far from cities and towns. The ambulance arrives in 5 hours, if it arrives at all. That is, you need to take it from there. And you can't do without help.

We got together with Ilya Gushchin, a former prisoner in the “bolotnaya case”, now a responsible employee of the “Rus Siddashchaya”, and drove off. Here is Olesya with such a good belly. So far, he lives with kind people in the regional center, lives for free, because people are really kind and are engaged in prison ministry. We love them and know about their great deeds. How did you, Olesya, come to such a life? And here's how it happens: a Russian family lived in Krasnovodsk (this is Turkmenistan). They left in the early 2000s: my mother went to Belarus, lives in the village, and Olesya went to Russia, received citizenship, worked at an engine building plant, lived in a hostel, where she was registered. I met Sergei, and he messed up stupidly (but not drunk, he seems to be a non-drinker), he was imprisoned. And then the plant closed, Olesya was laid off, registration ended. Olesya began to knock around in the corners, and then she became pregnant. And Sergei has nothing, because while he is in prison, his brother died, his brother's wife promised Sergei a share of the property, signed all his consents, sold the house and disappeared with the money. Olesya is not entitled to anything from this by law, because at that time she and Sergey were not married. Sometimes it happens. And the one who is inside her, all these geopolitical and personal troubles of ours are on the drum: he needs to be born and become a normal person, for which there seem to be prerequisites. Olesya is a positive young lady, calm, economic, does not drink or smoke, she tries to bake pies a little.

Well, now let's go to the zone. And Olesya is with us, she would like to see Sergei. It’s not so far to go - 200 km in total. We arrive at the village. A good, strong settlement: three strict zones and a settlement. The three owners of the three zones compete to see who has the stronger economy, the three ends of the village are called by their names behind the scenes: where the owner is called Peter, it is called Petrograd, where the head with a Ukrainian surname is Khokhlovka, and the third end is called Chuguevka. Therefore, at one end, the dominant feature of the new temple stands with an excellent, very smart priest, Father Alexei, all parishes would like such a priest. At the other end is pride: a new boiler room with a dryer (wood chips are dried), everything glitters, like some kind in Holland. And in the third part - pigs the size of a small cow. All three ends of the village converge at the dining room of the Federal Penitentiary Service (as it is written on the check), where unescorted citizens of a completely rosy-cheeked appearance work, making five types of pies and breathtaking cutlets, and where you can dine together for the price of a pack of cigarettes in Moscow.

Let's go to the zone. Here is the owner, here is the social worker, and here is opera Misha: he himself has four children, and since they have already arrived, here Misha tells who else needs help here. There is a disabled person here, there is an old man, whom the children abandoned, but soon the guy turns out to be a good one, he also needs help. He tells about Sergey: he is not troubled, we have now transferred him to the village, put him on a logging site so that he can at least earn money, but the court does not give him parole yet, 4 years to leave is a lot for our court, we will try in another six months. I ask Misha, why is he so concerned about Sergei? Misha is surprised by the question.

- So now he will have a baby, he can’t find a place for himself here from unrest, he is already 45. He will start to rush to Olesya, he will run away again, fool, and we will catch him, and he will add time to himself, why do we need all this?

Logically. Only he is the only opera I have met so far who talks like that. We bought a transfer, sent Olesya on a date with Sergey. And I got to know him. Healthy, but touching to the point of impossibility, as he is around Olesya, eh. She told him sternly - not to be stupid, went to talk with the owner. The head of the zone is waiting for me outside. Nearby the little dog curls on three paws. “Listen,” I say to the owner, “let me run to the store, I’ll buy a sausage for her.”

- And this is my dog, she is spoiled. She crawled as a puppy without a paw. Where is her? Here is mine now.

Everything will be fine with Olesya and Sergey. We are a foundation, we have the opportunity to help them, this is according to our charter. But this is everything else that they saw with their own eyes - it was not according to the charter, it was from wisdom and humanity. For eight years I have been traveling around the zones, the first time I see this. But I know for sure: you can’t even name the region, let alone the names, otherwise everyone will be dispersed and defeated. For the boiler room, the pigsty, for the dining room of increased sincerity, for communication with the fund. But after all it is possible, therefore, in a human way? So, where it is not human, it is not the charter that is to blame.