Polina Blinova, Grade 12
UWC Maastricht
“Why do you want Medvedyev to become president?” asked my father laughingly. Too young and unable to grasp the concept of power turnover, yet I was still reluctant to welcome the possibility of Putin becoming the president again. My 9-year-old self just wanted to see a new face wishing me “Happy New Year” on the 31st of December. Even a child saw why it was wrong for the same person to be standing in front of the red walls of the Kremlin and reflecting on how far the powerful Russian nation has come.
I was born in 2003 when Mr. President was in the third year of his first term. Now, it is 2020, I am 17 years old, and it is still his face that I see on the front covers of newspapers talking about pension reforms, it is still his hand that is shaking the hand of other politicians during international conferences, and it is still his voice that is behind the notoriously familiar ‘dear citizens of Russia’ on New Year’s eve. As of now, I know I am going to be at least 33 when I would see someone else doing those things. Not sure if it is the typical overlooking of anything not belonging to the ‘Western World’ in the news, or people getting used to the idea of prevailing dictatorship in Russia, that no-one seemed to notice what happened in June. I did not hear a single soul outside of Russia talking about the once again completely illegal seizure of power that occurred during the lockdown. This adds to my frustration.
It was the 1st of July, the final day of voting and my father’s birthday. He, now too, did not want Mr. President to be president again, but my parents did not go to the referendum. We were supposed to decide upon whether or not we want to change our Constitution, but more so, the vote was a disguise for a direct proposal of Putin keeping his much-cherished throne for another decade and a half. “It’s useless. We don’t want to waste our time”, deep down I knew that it was indeed useless; everyone knew that the results were going to be falsified just like they always were before. Hope is a silly concept in Russia’s situation, but I do not know if it was only me who still had a lingering sense of it on that day. I was not surprised. I was not devastated. Even slight disappointment would be an exaggeration. This is what scares me: whatever I felt like on the 1st of July is not an indication of me not caring about the future of my home country. It does not mean that I fled to Europe and stopped being affected by whatever is going on back home. It just shows a simple yet dreadful truth: we have been living under the corrupt government of Mr. President for so many years that we have gotten used to being wronged.
This piece is not a cry for help, nor is it aimed to spread awareness on the issue. It is a reflection, and it is me trying to put into words my thoughts about what kind of country I live in. Russians are not rising, and I don’t know if we will. No clue if our mindset of enduring ‘bad things’ until they go away on their own will ever fade. Generally, ‘confused’ is the word that accompanies me whenever I think or talk about Russia: I am not quite sure about what the future will bring us, but I am still holding on to the feeling that hopefully, we have not yet made our current circumstances part of the new normal.
I was born in 2003 when Mr. President was in the third year of his first term. Now, it is 2020, I am 17 years old, and it is still his face that I see on the front covers of newspapers talking about pension reforms, it is still his hand that is shaking the hand of other politicians during international conferences, and it is still his voice that is behind the notoriously familiar ‘dear citizens of Russia’ on New Year’s eve. As of now, I know I am going to be at least 33 when I would see someone else doing those things. Not sure if it is the typical overlooking of anything not belonging to the ‘Western World’ in the news, or people getting used to the idea of prevailing dictatorship in Russia, that no-one seemed to notice what happened in June. I did not hear a single soul outside of Russia talking about the once again completely illegal seizure of power that occurred during the lockdown. This adds to my frustration.
It was the 1st of July, the final day of voting and my father’s birthday. He, now too, did not want Mr. President to be president again, but my parents did not go to the referendum. We were supposed to decide upon whether or not we want to change our Constitution, but more so, the vote was a disguise for a direct proposal of Putin keeping his much-cherished throne for another decade and a half. “It’s useless. We don’t want to waste our time”, deep down I knew that it was indeed useless; everyone knew that the results were going to be falsified just like they always were before. Hope is a silly concept in Russia’s situation, but I do not know if it was only me who still had a lingering sense of it on that day. I was not surprised. I was not devastated. Even slight disappointment would be an exaggeration. This is what scares me: whatever I felt like on the 1st of July is not an indication of me not caring about the future of my home country. It does not mean that I fled to Europe and stopped being affected by whatever is going on back home. It just shows a simple yet dreadful truth: we have been living under the corrupt government of Mr. President for so many years that we have gotten used to being wronged.
This piece is not a cry for help, nor is it aimed to spread awareness on the issue. It is a reflection, and it is me trying to put into words my thoughts about what kind of country I live in. Russians are not rising, and I don’t know if we will. No clue if our mindset of enduring ‘bad things’ until they go away on their own will ever fade. Generally, ‘confused’ is the word that accompanies me whenever I think or talk about Russia: I am not quite sure about what the future will bring us, but I am still holding on to the feeling that hopefully, we have not yet made our current circumstances part of the new normal.
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