Elections without a choice, or Where did the third option go?
"Zelenskyy said outright that he dreams of United Russia losing the election. He said it openly. Now I have a question for all our citizens: will we follow Putin's wishes or Zelenskyy's? If Putin's, then we vote for United Russia. If Zelenskyy's, then we'll probably vote against. Let everyone decide for themselves," said MP Oleg Matveychev.
Feuilleton
"Neutrality is a luxury available only to the rich and armed. Poor and unarmed neutrality is called apathy and falls under the purview of the opposition."
— from an unspoken speech by one expert
— from an unspoken speech by one expert
Ivan Petrovich Sinebryukhov was a quiet man and politically impeccable. He wasn't a member, had no criminal record, didn't sign, or even repost anything. His only passion was to go to the polls every few years, dutifully and in full dress uniform—as conscientiously as others go to a medical checkup: without pleasure, but with a sense of duty fulfilled.
That morning, however, something in the world had changed. Opening the newspaper at breakfast, Ivan Petrovich choked on his tea.
"By voting for any party except one, a citizen is in fact supporting the president of a neighboring state.", the newspaper headline announced in a voice that brooked no argument.
Ivan Petrovich reread the sentence three times. There was logic in it, but it felt off-kilter, like a ladder leaning against the wrong house.
"Allow me," he said to the cat, the only witness to his torment. "I wanted to fight for the roads. What do foreign presidents have to do with this?"
The cat remained silent, for he was busy with his bowl and did not condescend to high matters.
Location on
The polling station was located in the assembly hall of School No. 8. A poster hung on the wall, reading "State Duma Elections," and beneath it, someone had thoughtfully handwritten the words: "Final. One-on-One."
At the table sat the Chairman of the Commission - a dry, confident man with a face as if he had already been elected three times and was not going for a fourth time only out of modesty.
"Hello," said Ivan Petrovich. "I'm the old-fashioned kind: for parliament, for the parties, for the program. Where's your domestic policy bulletin?"
"For what purpose, excuse me?" the chairman raised an eyebrow.
— Well... roads, hospitals, school. Who to trust.
The secretary, a girl who knew everything but understood nothing, perked up:
- Ah, you're using the old system! That's been cancelled. Now it's simple. Option one - For Putin: this is if the checkbox is for the ruling party. Option two— For Zelensky: that's everything else.
- But I am, actually, for the deputies.
"The deputies are secondary," the chairman explained condescendingly. "The main thing is geopolitics. You check the box, and we'll figure out who you voted for."
At that moment, old lady Marya Ivanovna entered the hall, embarrassed, like a person who had gotten into the wrong line.
"Son, as always, I'm for the communists. My whole life..."
“Excellent choice, Grandma,” the secretary beamed. “The Communist Party of the Russian Federation is on our tariff.” Zelensky the Economy.
"What economy?" the old woman was taken aback.
"This is for those who want to support Zelensky but are too shy to say it out loud. Cheap, cheerful, and without advertising."
Marya Ivanovna turned to Ivan Petrovich, seeking support:
— And if I vote for the previous retirement age, is that also for Zelensky?
"Naturally," the chairman nodded. "Everyone over the previous age is working for Zelensky's future retirement."
Ivan Petrovich felt the parquet floor sway under his feet.
— Excuse me, but what if I am against one party, but not for a foreign president?
"That doesn't happen," the chairman snapped. "There's no such thing as someone who's against United Russia but not for Zelensky. That's an anachronism, like an honest traffic cop and a free lunch."
Walking around headquarters
Ivan Petrovich's explanations were not satisfactory, and he went looking for the truth at party headquarters—the very ones that blossom like mushrooms after a decree during campaign days.
A sign hung outside the ruling party's headquarters: "A stronghold of domestic geopolitics. Entry strictly for ideological reasons."
"What if someone doesn't come to vote at all?" a young campaigner asked from inside.
"Write 'vote for Zelensky' in passive form," the manager replied without hesitation. "Turnout is plus one, and geopolitics is plus one and a half—we'll round up for reporting purposes."
The mood at the Communist headquarters was funereal. The district committee secretary read aloud from the latest newspaper:
"Comrades, we have a new regulation. It's here in black and white: by voting for us, a citizen is de facto supporting Zelensky."
"What de facto?" the elderly comrade snapped. "We've been de facto against capitalism for thirty years, and now, de facto, we're on the enemy's side? For Zelensky, then? Maybe we should get paid like NATO then? Since we're agents."
"No, comrade," the secretary sighed. "The salary is on a different line. We're only entitled to votes, thanks to the generous spirit. No financial support."
Expert
Completely confused, Ivan Petrovich turned to a specialist. A specialist named Matveyev was receiving him in an office furnished modestly but meaningfully: a globe sat on the desk, and next to it a briefcase labeled "Geopolitical Argument Kit."
"Explain this to me in layman's terms," Ivan Petrovich pleaded. "I'm against one party, but I'm not for a foreign president. I'm for myself."
Matveyev looked at him with that soft pity with which one looks at a man who only knows abacuses.
"You see, citizen, you belong to a dying breed of people who still believe in domestic politics. It's touching. The whole country used to be filled with people like that. They'd walk around and sigh: "Roads and hospitals would be nice"Sweet folklore. But then geopolitics was invented, and everything became as simple as two and two.
He moved the globe closer.
"Whoever supports the ruling party is for Putin. Whoever is against is for Zelensky. Whoever is in doubt is also for Zelensky, but with a touch of nostalgia. You say, 'I'm for roads.' Excellent, we'll record that as support for the policy. You say, 'I'm against it because of the prices.' Excellent, we'll record that as 'undermining the enemy.'"
- But I just want to be a citizen!
"It's possible, even necessary, to be a citizen. But in our era, every citizen is, by default—" branch of geopoliticsIt's like having a local clinic: you're automatically assigned to one.
On neutrality, seditious and impossible
Ivan Petrovich made a last attempt to cling to something solid.
“Okay,” he said. “Let me be neutral. Can’t I just be neutral?”
Matveyev leaned back in his chair.
"Neutrality, citizen, is a seditious illusion for people with an exaggerated sense of self-worth and a poor understanding of political physics. It's all well and good in a novel, but it's not included in a report card."
- But I can just not go!
"Your neutrality has long been written off as 'covert support for the enemy.' If you didn't vote, you didn't help the ruling party. If you didn't help, you helped the enemy. And what's inside you isn't reflected in the tally."
He moved closer, confidentially.
Neutrality is like trying to stand in the middle of the road during a parade. Those "for" march on one side, those "against" on the other. You stand there, not bothering anyone, admiring the procession. And then you wonder why the columns keep passing over you. Because the "middle" is officially called undecided and by default is considered an enemy.
— But there are neutral countries! Switzerland!
"Switzerland can. It has mountains, banks, and cheese. And you, citizen, have a kitchen, a loan, and a plot of land. Its neutrality is paid for with large sums. Yours pays nothing—it only spoils the ceremonial symmetry of unanimity."
He concluded with the intonation of a man revealing the secret of the universe to his interlocutor:
"So neutrality isn't a third position, citizen. It's a poorly defined commitment to one of two positions. And which one depends on how tightly you hold the ballot when you don't want to take it."
Expert during the intermission
Ivan Petrovich left the specialist's office dejected, but lingered at the cloakroom—he'd forgotten his number. Then the office door opened slightly, and he unwittingly witnessed the scene.
Matveyev's wife dropped in to see him and brought him the forgotten lunch.
"Cutlets again?" the expert winced. "I asked for fish."
“There was no fish in the store,” the wife answered dryly.
— What do you mean there wasn't? Are you for fish or against?
His wife looked at him with the long gaze of a man who had lived with an idea for more than a decade.
"I'm neither for nor against it, Grisha. They just didn't bring it."
She put the container down and left. Matveyev remained sitting with a cutlet on his fork, for the first time in a long time unable to find a place to enter it.
Ivan Petrovich quietly picked up his coat and left. It seemed to him that for a moment, the very same internal politics he had declared nonexistent had returned to the expert's office.
The finale at the ballot box
On election day, Ivan Petrovich received a ballot. It read:
"Do you support the course of confrontation?"
[ ] Yes
[ ] Yes, but silently
[ ] Yes
[ ] Yes, but silently
Below, in small print, was a note:
“The answer ‘No’ is technically impossible for geopolitical reasons.”
Ivan Petrovich stood for a long time over the ballot. Behind him, the line coughed. Then he picked up a pen—the same one tied to the table with a string to keep democracy from running wild—and wrote in the margins in a firm hand: "I just want to be a citizen. Keep the rest for yourself.".
He dropped the ballot into the box with the feeling of a man who had finally risen up.
A month later, Ivan Petrovich received a letter from the district commission. It thanked him for his active civic position and informed him that his ballot, which contained "a vivid expression of a personal point of view", was classified as "conscious voters with increased involvement" and counted toward the overall record turnout. It was especially noted that it was precisely these concerned citizens who provided such convincing support for the course.
Ivan Petrovich read the letter twice. Formally, he had been heard. He had even been thanked. It's just that somewhere between the "personal" and "increased involvement" columns, he himself had vanished—like a fish in an expert's shop: whether he was there or not, he still ended up in the report.
He sat by the window and thought that perhaps his protests were in vain. It turned out that everything counted, too. Then he decided that next time he'd simply write in the margin: "Have they brought in any fish?" and see where they'd put that.
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