In the Soviet Union, anyone who was released after serving a sentence for a political crime had to comply with certain rules. One of them was not to live less than 101 kilometers from large cities. Thus, new centers were born, such as Tarusa, a small city where the doctor and writer Maxim Ósipov (Moscow, 1963) went to live in 2005. That place inspires many of the stories that make up his new book, Kilometer 101 (Asteroid Books), in which he analyzes a country that "has changed a lot in recent decades."
He lived for many years in Moscow but in 2005 he decided to move to Tarusa. What led you to make that change?
I had the feeling that Moscow was occupied by enemies. And Tarusa offered me freedoms that I couldn't find in the big city.
Which is it?
There you could do things that should be able to be done anywhere. Bureaucracy and administrative barriers were fewer. It's you and the patient, and little else.
In his book he avoids mentioning the city of Tarusa. He calls her 'N'.
To distance ourselves, although shortly after publishing it the cake was already revealed. Beyond a political reason, what he wanted was to talk about Tarusa as something bigger. Calling it 'N', everything he explained could refer to any small Russian town on the outskirts.
How different is life in the provinces from that in cities?
Enormous. Although I must say that Russia is becoming more provincialized every day. The government longs for the 19th century or even further back, and does not hide it. Each one feels that his city is the center of the universe. Paris for Parisians is the center of everything, and the same thing happens in New York. On the other hand, in Moscow you don't have that feeling. And in the provinces, less. If you dye your hair a crazy color, someone will probably come and tell you that things aren't done that way there.
And how are they made? Because it does not hide in its pages that corruption is the order of the day.
The most curious thing is that, when I was writing, I didn't realize that I was narrating cases of corruption. I'm simply talking about the day-to-day life of Russia. There is not a judge there who does not accept bribes. Not for a political prisoner, but for a common criminal, it is normal. But it doesn't just happen with judges. Also in the business world and with officials of all kinds. The entire system is based on corruption and, if you remove it, everything falls apart.
Many of his patients in Tarusa were resigned to dying, even though they had problems with a solution.
This is what we have seen during this war as well. Many people have died and there is little feeling or reaction, unfortunately.
He is critical of today's Russia. Was that what made you move to Amsterdam?
When the war broke out, I knew I had to leave. Everything was very fast. Feelings of fear, anger, but above all disgust came over me. A few days after it all started, I saw signs on the road proclaiming that we were not ashamed. I did feel ashamed of what was happening, and it made no sense for me to be there. Also, my daughter lived in Germany and had a baby in 2021. She was afraid of never seeing them again.
How do you think your departure was experienced in Russia?
Russian officials and senior officials consider us deserters and traitors. But we are people who are basically not willing to die for their purposes. I, for one, don't want to die for Putin's ambition. My friends understand this perfectly, and if they have not left it is also because immigrating is expensive and because they have family to take care of and that they cannot leave behind. Mine was already in Europe and, the rest, I used savings.
How was the reception?
The Netherlands has welcomed us with open arms. From the first moment we explained our position to everyone who was interested and the reasons and intentions have always been understood. I guess it depends on the country you go to. In Poland or the Baltic States, for example, they have a specific opinion about Russians. It's understandable and I agree with many of the aspects, but it's not always fair either.
Don't you work as a doctor now?
It's not possible. First of all, I don't speak Dutch. Furthermore, I would have to start at the lowest level, and at 60 years old I don't feel like it. Perhaps I could teach echocardiography classes in English, since I am an expert in this field. But I have the feeling that Dutch doctors don't need me for that. They already have very good specialists.
Do you miss him?
Yes of course. It's something I've been doing since I was 22 years old.
At least it has the writing. His books continue to be published in Russia.
If they paid attention to what I write, they would be banned. Although it's not like I'm the most popular writer. They did censor a play I wrote called Russia and Literature and which is based on my book Rock, Paper, Scissors (2022). It is not allowed to be performed in any theater. But the books, they will not have taken to looking at them nor do I think they will if no one reports them. This works like this.
Always with complaints?
Almost always, and not necessarily something big. One time, a girl was arrested for wearing rainbow earrings.
And so?
They said it was a gay symbol, although she insisted that was nonsense. The police and the judge would surely understand her. The problem is fear. Everything works like this. Fear that a colleague will report them for not condemning a gay symbol, in this case. This is just one of the many stupid things that happen in my country. You can also get six years in prison for retweeting or liking something on Facebook that is politically controversial. And you didn't even write it.
It's unpredictable.
Then there are people who do much more risky things, but since no one has reported them, they remain free. There is a total absence of law and that is the strength of the system.
How do you see the future?
Putin's regime is doomed to fall and the longer it lasts, the worse the consequence will be. What will happen next? Don't know. It depends on many very subjective factors. But it will fall, rest assured.
He is optimistic.
To be honest, I have never been as pessimistic as I am now. Even in Soviet times I had more hopes. But now I think that, when the regime falls, there will be a wave of crimes, as happened in the 90s. Or worse.
Do you see yourself coming back?
I would love to, but I don't know. My sister is there, my parents' graves are there and I have my house in Tarusa. A big part of my heart is there. I don't lose hope, although every day I lower my expectations more.
