2023-05-15 18:57:26
You come from St. Petersburg. Now they told what it’s like to live in Russia. And from an opinion poll in the form of canned food.
Young people at the Landwehr Canal in Berlin-KreuzbergMarkus Wächter/Berliner Zeitung
We hadn’t seen each other for three years, first because of the pandemic, then the war came. But now they were here in Berlin, three Russian women from St. Petersburg. The evening we spent together was happy, it was depressing.
Above all, I learned from Katja about the fine web of fear and distrust that has settled over her life. She hardly dares to speak openly to anyone about her critical stance on Putin’s policies, to comment on social media. Two of her friends are in prison because of it. Initially, when people demonstrated in Russia’s larger cities immediately after the attack on Ukraine, those arrested were released after two weeks. “Now people are sentenced to several years if they criticize the war.” One of her friends got nine years.
Katja has become lonely. Not only because caution and suspicion poison social relations, many of her friends have left the country. She herself wants to stay, has a job in which she takes care of people to whom she feels obligated. Nothing more should be said here. Our guests’ paranoia rubbed off on us. We even turned off cell phones as we spoke.
An opinion poll on the war in a St. Petersburg stairwell
Masha spoke of her fear of being held responsible by her German friends for what Russia is doing, she spoke of her relief that this did not come true. All three spoke of their fear of being asked on the streets of Berlin where they came from and of being met with a truthful answer. There were many touches that evening, which indicated a need to physically reassure one another of the connection and affection.
Svetlana told about the house where she lives, in Piter, as residents of St. Petersburg affectionately call their city. She doesn’t trust any opinion poll on the war, but when they were asked to collect empty tin cans to be turned into lanterns for the soldiers at the front, she watched closely as the sacks filled up in her stairwell. “They were always full,” she said.
“Berlin is like oxygen for me,” said Katja. We hugged each other long and tight to say goodbye. She whispered, “Come visit me.” Two days later she flew back.
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