Most of them don’t want to fight — they just go with the flow

Early in the morning on September 26, the doorbell rang. My mom opened and called me over. They handed me a draft summons. I was confused and signed it. According to it, I was supposed to report to the military commissariat the next day, but I didn’t go anywhere. I just kept living my normal life.

I didn’t know what to do when a summons comes. I hadn’t been following the mobilization news, because at first they announced they were only calling up people with combat experience or certain specialties. Mine wasn’t on the list. In my regular life, I work as an assembler-picker at a company that makes corporate gifts.

Two weeks later, at the Volokolamskaya metro station, two police officers approached me. They said I needed to be checked — that I was wanted for evading mobilization. We went up to their station [in the metro]. They checked: I was indeed on the wanted list. I was shaking, nearly nauseous.

The police took me to the district police department, took my fingerprints, and then we went to the commissariat. [They] wanted to hold the draft commission right away (which decides on fitness for service — SP), but I didn’t have my documents with me. The commission head told me to go home and get them. Two police officers came with me.

When we returned, he wanted to hold the [hearing] right in his office with just one soldier (by law, the commission must have at least six members — SP). I wanted to video the process, hoping the decision could be appealed. But the head said filming wasn’t allowed. After that, they [actually] assembled the full commission.

I explained that I had no combat experience. I asked by what criteria people fall under the mobilization. The head said he wasn’t obligated to answer that question. I said I hadn’t passed a medical examination and had stomach complaints. They sent me to a doctor — he felt my abdomen and said everything was fine.

They decided I needed to be mobilized. That same day I was sent to Kubinka (a town in Moscow Oblast — SP), to the Patriot Park, where I spent three days living and doing nothing. From my draft commission, I ran into five people. One of them walked around not entirely sober on the first day, and on the second was talking to himself. At night, [he] climbed off his bed and fell. About ten minutes later, they found him in the hallway having an epileptic seizure.

At Patriot Park, we lived in a children’s camp. It’s clean, there’s hot water. On October 12, we went to a field camp where we lived in a tent for two or three days. Again we did nothing — just lived our lives, needed by nobody.

They told us [to buy ourselves] tactical gloves (gloves with protective elements — SP), elbow pads, and knee pads. Together they cost about two thousand rubles. My brother bought them [for me]. Those who didn’t buy their own will go without. The rest of the gear — including a winter jacket and pants — was issued at the commissariat. I’m not freezing.

On Friday, they brought us to Kalininets (a town in Moscow Oblast — SP), to a military base, where again we do nothing. Upon arrival, from ten in the morning until six in the evening, we just sat on the grass, because nobody [at the base] knew about us. Only after four days did they gradually start assigning people to other units.

If your specialty is needed — say, you’re an artilleryman — you’re taken into the artillery. If it’s not needed, you’re distributed chaotically, wherever.

The feeling is that nobody really knows about us. Nobody cares. Since my mobilization, we’ve formed up three or four times. The average age of the mobilized is about thirty-seven. There are guys like me too — around twenty-seven. By profession, I’ve met an electrician and a taxi driver. Mostly people from Moscow and the Moscow region. The base has conscripts and mobilized officers, but they don’t interact with us. Nobody talks to us at all.

All we do here is eat and sleep; the rest of the time we’re left to ourselves. The food is fine, and it’s not centralized — whoever wants to goes to the mess hall. Some go to the post exchange. We live in a barracks — a half-ruined concrete building.

At the base, mobilized men drank alcohol several times. If [officers] noticed, the alcohol was confiscated. After those incidents, everyone entering the base has their bags checked. Though you can still toss things over the fence.

You can leave the base and meet relatives in town. Some people just go into town to shop. As far as I know, nobody has fled.

The main rule — don’t film anything: no officers, no buildings. We still have our phones, and I stay in touch with relatives.

I try not to tell my mom anything — I say everything’s fine. She’s extremely worried, crying — she blames herself for opening the door and calling me. My father and brother don’t want me to be here, but they’re taking the situation more or less calmly. They’re coming to visit me soon.

They say we’re supposed to be sent to Belarus, or first to Mulino (a settlement in Nizhny Novgorod Oblast — SP) for training, and then to Belarus. Why Belarus, I don’t know. Someone said we’d be “guarding territories,” but what that means, I don’t understand. And the officers don’t answer our questions.

Most [people here] don’t want to fight — they’re just going with the flow. I know two other people who don’t want to be here and are gathering paperwork to get sent home. A few others technically shouldn’t have fallen under the mobilization — they’re preparing documents [that they didn’t serve / have a dependent relative, etc.] to get taken off. There are those who are happy about it — practically volunteers.

I’ve sent complaints to the military prosecutor’s office, the Moscow government, and the presidential administration. It would be a miracle if one of them works. I’m waiting for a response, but it’s unlikely they’ll answer. I believe I was taken illegally.

I can’t imagine killing a person. I don’t want to die either. Or go to prison. Honestly, I don’t know what to do.