Immersed as it is in a national-depressive psychosis, Russia finds an outlet in television, vodka, drugs and war. The country’s mortality rate is the highest in Europe, with only Afghanistan and sixteen African countries ahead of us worldwide. A third of Russia’s male population won’t live long enough to claim a pension, and eight per cent of people live below the poverty level. And this is a country that boasts 131 billionaires and 180,000 millionaires.
But we are not going to hear about any of this on the news. Why would a doomed people want to hear about their fate? The ropes of social mobility have been torn, and a kind of negative selection pushes the scum to the top. Russia’s economy is drowning, but life-jackets have been given only to the banks, state-owned corporations and those closest to the Kremlin. Every year more towns and villages disappear from the map. Young people have no prospects, adults have no jobs and the elderly have no pensions. In the provinces millions of people live without modern conveniences, in the countryside they live in dilapidated homes with wooden outhouses for toilets as it was a hundred years ago. Instead of central heating they have wood stoves; in the ‘oil and gas empire’ many citizens only dream of a gas supply.
But even the most backward regions have achieved one mark of civilization – the satellite dishes that stick out like ears on almost every house. In the evenings, residents of squalid towns and dying villages are glued to their television screens, listening to political analysts, economists and all manner of experts telling them how much the whole world hates us simply for being Russian.
All that remains to these people is the patriotism they see on TV, and the hate they feel for whomever is pointed out to them as an enemy. Without this, they would go mad from despair, horror and anguish.