The heavy wooden door squeaks pitifully as a twiggy boy with blond spiky hair leaves the Russian army recruiting office. The twenty-something is in black from head to toe and carries a folder of documents under his arm. He joins a group of men smoking by a bench and shakes their hands with a smile. The atmosphere is summery, almost elated. The prospect of military service doesn’t seem to frighten these guys, but they don’t want to talk about it with a journalist. “No comment.”
The Petersburg ‘selection point for military contract service’ is located next to the Vitebski station, on a tightly mowed lawn, bordered by colorful flower boxes. Men report here who are tempted to enlist in the Russian army. Uplifting military march music can be heard from an open window: the nineteenth-century building also houses the Ensemble for Song and Dance of Russia’s Western Military District. Chat-Kletjs the brassy cymbals sound, a deep singing voice blares through the window.
It fucks otbora is one of hundreds of Russian army recruitment agencies where healthy Russian men up to 59 years old can sign a contract for military service. Here they get information about the structure of the army and their future tasks. Recently, this is also where one of the three special volunteer brigades for the ‘military operation’ in Ukraine, recently established in Saint Petersburg, has been established: Neva, Kronshtadt and Pavlovsk. At least that’s what it says the advertisement which the Russian army recently posted on the social medium VKontakte. “Can’t you find a good and stable job? Then you have come to the right place. We are looking for citizens who want to become professional defenders of the Fatherland,” reads the recruitment text. The ad promises volunteers “renewed conditions”, “social guarantees” and a “high financial compensation”. In addition, candidates are offered a one-time bonus of EUR 4,500. Minimum contract period: six months. Only residents of Saint Petersburg and its environs are eligible. They can also report to the mobile recruitment point, which is set up on the Paleisplein in front of the Hermitage museum on public holidays, and is flanked by a cheerful, plastic blow-up soldier.
The “special military operation” in Ukraine has been going on for nearly six months and has virtually exhausted the Russian army, military analysts say. Although Russia keeps the number of fallen and captured soldiers a top secret, according to international estimates, between 20,000 and 40,000 Russian soldiers may have already died. Russia is at the end of its powers said British MI6 intelligence chief Richard Moore told CNN in late July. All over the country, funerals of soldiers take place daily, and often secretly. Relatives receive the enormous amount of 5 million rubles (more than 80,000 euros). This applies to both soldiers in the service of the army and to ‘volunteers’ who are recruited at the regional level.
Despite the large losses, a general mobilization, which many Russians fear, does not seem to be on the agenda for the time being. This could provoke unrest among the population – and possibly a new exodus of Russians abroad. In order to keep the flow to the front going, the Russian government has recently started actively encouraging the regions to recruit volunteers. “The Kremlin is said to have instructed the 85 Russian regional governments to create the volunteer brigades in order to avert full or partial mobilization,” Kateryna Stepanenko of the Institute for the Study of War in Washington told CNN in late July.
‘Shadow mobilization’
According to Stepanenko, the regions have to bear a large part of the financial burden themselves. Local army branches try to entice residents with patriotic-sounding names, the promise of “fraternity,” high fees, short-term contracts and free apartments or training places for their offspring. The independent Russian news site media zone called she sneers ‘PR soldiers’. Experts and activists speak of a ‘shadow mobilization’. The distinction between professional soldiers and volunteers is vague. The difference seems to be mainly in the level of military training and knowledge, which often falls seriously short of volunteers with short-term contracts.
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In a short time, volunteer brigades have sprung up all over Russia. In the East Siberian republic of Yakutia, for example, a volunteer detachment was established with the name ‘Bootur’, after the legendary ancestor of the ethnic Yakut population. According to Governor Aysen Nikolaev, the brigade, which left for Ukraine at the end of July, has the task “to liberate friendly republics, strengthen the borders and defend our country.” There are billboards all over the country enticing Russians to sign up for the “good cause”. The interest is enormous, local military spokesmen say in the media. But despite the national PR campaign, the brigades have an atmosphere of shadow.
Aftershave
“You can come, but we are a recruitment agency of the Ministry of Defense. We have nothing to do with volunteers”, says a man over the phone, when NRC call the number specified in the ad. “We do not recruit volunteers. I’m not familiar with those brigades you’re talking about.”
At the indicated address, a young non-commissioned officer named Yermolayev in his green army jacket looks surprised when the journalist reports. A file with photos of young men lies in front of him on his desk, posters on the wall explain the difference between conscription and contract service. A man in his twenties in a white shirt and blue jeans is filling out a form at the counter. In a display case are military paraphernalia: aftershave in camouflage packaging, badges, T-shirts.
golden mountains
Petty Officer Yermolaev, like his colleague on the phone, says he knows nothing about the volunteer brigades or the advertisement listing his office as an information point. “We are engaged in the recruitment of professional soldiers according to the existing procedures, those who want to sign a contract. And we don’t send anyone to war at all, if that’s what you think. The men hired here go to detsjast”, he says, referring to the military units that exist throughout Russia and where young recruits train. What then do those units do with them? “That’s none of our business.”
And that’s exactly the problem, says a Petersburg activist in a dim apartment somewhere in the city. The blond, summer-dressed woman does not want her name in the newspaper for safety reasons. She is part of the Soldiers’ Mothers, a movement in Russia that fights for the rights of soldiers and their families. The same goes for boys who, via their military unit, somewhere in Russia, end up in Ukraine unseen and often without signing anything. While the Soldiers’ Mothers’ telephone lines have been red hot for the past few months with calls from desperate civilians looking for dead or missing sons, fathers and uncles, now, in the middle of summer, things are quieter.
“They think they will make good money if they go to Ukraine, but they sign for a one-way ticket to the slaughterhouse,” said the activist, sitting at a wooden table. “Volunteer simply sounds better than mercenary. More heroic.”
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She tells how many Russian men, especially from poor families, are seduced by the promises. “Those guys are cheated in front of them. Some are sent straight to Ukraine and are killed within a week of arrival. Often they are not even officially registered yet. They do not exist and the family can whistle for the promised benefit.”
Not infrequently, it is wives who persuade their husbands to enlist in exchange for golden mountains, says the activist. She regularly speaks to the women via the emergency line. Often they only call, desperate and in tears, when the money flow stops and the hubby is no longer heard from. “Naive and greedy,” she calls such families, who turn a blind eye to the suffering caused by Russian soldiers in Ukraine. “Ma’am,” I say. ‘If you don’t love your husband, send him to war. Maybe it will give you a house or something else of value.”
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of August 17, 2022