Today we are dismissing on their last trip all those figures of Russian culture who, under the cloak of the Duma and other authorities, have openly and honestly decided to become coup plotters, informers, informers, informers, witch hunters. On the last trip? Well, yes. These are crossed. But is it worth ironically burying those who have decided to become inveterate?

In the history of Russian culture, the reputation of an informant trumps all other activities in the life of a person who has undertaken to beat. For example, Zakhar Prilepin was a writer. Searching for topics. I looked for myself. He asked for support. I rose to my knees. Finally, he got up, found himself – it would be better if he didn’t. Something went wrong with the writing – I was drawn to power, to Donetsk, to the machine gun. From Zakhar he became Zakhar (probably he invented Z himself) – a dubious evolution: power erodes the writer’s freedom, and there is no writer without freedom. But even if he went to the side of the war party, this is his choice. But the passion for reporting is no longer a choice but a lifelong curse. And now they, together with the actor Pevtsov (there were also some singers there), under the auspices of the party leader Mironov, who already understood something about justice, begin to demand resignation from posts, posts, stage, etc. in an ultimatum order. those they considered enemies, as well as their accomplices, as well as accomplices of the same accomplices, and so on until mass terror. Or rather, to crush those who were commanded to regard as enemies. They choked with happiness in a military-patriotic frenzy. I wanted to assume leadership positions in television, in prestigious theaters, and ultimately in high politics – I wanted to rule everywhere. Not everyone sits patiently. a well-fed deputy and listen to delusional-patriotic female hysteria?

Of course, for now, they are just servants of the Kremlin authorities, which, in principle, infuriates the culture, because the culture has different principles. Culture struggles with entropy, and the authorities, ruled by a fratricidal apocalypse, are completely infected by entropy, which masquerades as patriotism and traditional values. But all values ​​are just a wrapper for the main and only value in Russia today – the tsar, who wanted to rule until the end of his days.

In Russia, literature has never kissed the authorities. There were writers who found themselves closest to power, and there were those (there were many more) who fought against it. But informants among the writers can be counted on the fingers. A contemporary of Pushkin, editor Faddey Bulgarin wrote a gifted novel “Ivan Vyzhigin”. But he became famous exclusively as an informant for the Benckendorff department. Nikolai Leskov awkwardly blamed students for the fires in St. Petersburg in the early 1860s. A good writer has never been able to clear a whistleblower’s reputation. In Soviet times, Alexander Fadeev, who began as a daring author of the novel “Rout”, in Stalin’s years as the commander of all Soviet writers, denounced and signed death sentences for his colleagues – after the death of the leader, he turned garbage, committed suicide.

It is not for nothing that the late Dostoevsky, a conservative, nationalist in his convictions, when asked if he informed about the revolutionaries’ regicide plans, replied “no”. The old condemned man knew that the informant destroys himself first of all.

At all levels of state management of culture, an orgy of struggle against dissent has now begun. But culture is not an army unit shouting “Viva!” The culture can hide, go underground, leave the country for a while, but… Nicholas the First died, holding the culture by the throat – a thaw began. Stalin died – another surprising thaw, the flowering of the arts. The Soviet Union has collapsed – we have a free culture. When the current tsar considers himself an incarnation of Alexander Nevsky, a single combatant of European civilization, it seems that everything will freeze forever, will be destroyed in our culture. But no, spring will come. Necessarily. There is such a historic Russian season.

And scammers and dictators are despised, they use their services, but despise them. And when dictators die, where does the famous scammer go?

Viktor Erofeev, writer, literary critic, TV presenter, author of the books “Russian Beauty”, “Good Stalin”, “Akimuds” and many others, holder of the French Order of the Legion of Honor.

This commentary expresses the author’s personal opinion. It may not agree with the opinion of Russian editors and Deutsche Welle in general.