It’s the most naïve of questions—posed only by those who have no idea what it means to be Russian. Let’s illustrate the situation with an analogy. Parachuting will do. Specifically, mass parachuting.
For a while, everyone was flying somewhere. It even looked like the pilots knew where this massive hunk of machinery was supposed to land. In the aisles, charming flight attendants offered drinks. Passengers cheerfully toasted to Russia and a brighter future. Those who weren’t offered drinks had brought their own anyway.
Then something shifted—and the passengers realized they weren’t flying horizontally anymore, but plunging straight down. Almost as fast. Turns out, the plane was made of plywood and broke apart in a hard nosedive. Off in the distance, the pilot is still falling—clutching the control yoke and screaming something into the mic.
Russians are forced to listen because loudspeakers are wired into their heads. They can’t turn them off, since the megaphone in the skull is the country’s main “spiritual bond.”
They’re told that a soft “Russian world” awaits at the bottom. That they’re flying exactly where they should. That everything is going according to plan. Those who doubt this are swiftly approached by people in uniform, cuffed, and gagged.
The absurdity of the moment is amplified by one fact: every falling passenger has a parachute on their back. They could’ve used it long before the descent, had they read the flight plan carefully and understood what this journey was from the start. But now it’s too late. The Russian-style “negative takeoff” has begun. Any attempt to avoid it is seen as treachery of the highest order.
How many are unhappy with the fall? Impossible to say. To outside observers, they appear as a single gray mass—with only a faint flicker of light somewhere in the region of Navalny.
Zoom in, and you’ll see a whole spectrum: some diving with enthusiasm, some plummeting in grim despair. The closer to impact, the greater the share of whimpering. But the uniformed ones are vigilant—now they’re arresting people simply for having a blank expression.
Meanwhile, the world wonders: haven’t they heard of gravity? In answer, squads of priests dart between the falling ranks, relentlessly sprinkling holy water and waving censers over the doomed descent.
What exactly will remain at the place where this sanctified biomass lands—that is perhaps the central mystery of the 21st century.