To Stay and Survive

Independent film director Elizaveta Stishova and a team from the Berlin-based Russian-language OstWest television channel have released the documentary film, Save and Be Saved («Спасись и сохранись»), about the struggles of four young men to avoid fighting in Ukraine, including by applying for alternative civilian service[1]. In parallel with these stories, we hear thoughts on the war in Ukraine and what is happening in Russia from a varied assortment of long-distance train travelers: an elderly woman, Wagner Group fighters returning from Donbas, a refugee from Ukraine, and a long-haired yogi.

A correspondent for the independent news outlet 7x7 spoke with Elizaveta Stishova about how Russians talk about the war and about people willing to fight for their rights against the odds.

You are best known for dramatic films, especially for Suleiman Mountain. Now you’re making documentaries about what’s happening with Russians today. Why?

I had to start making documentaries, because I simply couldn’t make narrative films on abstract subjects now. Naturally, when the war broke out, I started to wonder: “What kind of people are we?” And from being furious at Russians I arrived at a desire to make films about heroes, about people who stand up for themselves. For example, the previous film, War and Mirny: The Story of a Russian Family [«Война и Мирный. История одной российской семьи», about the family of an environmental activist from Shiyes[2]], features an absolutely heroic woman who was forced to flee the country. Yana Troyanova and I are also planning to make a short about [Irina] Slavina [the Nizhny Novgorod journalist who died in an act of self-immolation protesting oppression by the authorities in 2020]. It has become really important to me to show that such people exist. In that sense, I’m working as an advocate for the Russian individual.

How did you come up with the idea for this new film?

This is the second film we’ve done with OstWest. The first, War and Mirny, came out in September 2022. That was when Sasha Perepelova and Masha Makeyeva (who co-produced Save and Be Saved), and I began wondering what else we could talk about. And we decided it would be interesting to take a look at people who are consciously rejecting the war and explore why this happens.

The film centers on three young guys who applied for alternative civilian service. Why did you decide to give them the most screen time?

Of everyone we tried to talk to, these guys were the bravest. For me, these boys are true heroes in the modern sense of the word. Overall, it was not easy finding people. We had other guys with interesting stories, one of whom, for example, even spent time in prison to avoid going to war a second time. In all these cases, there came a time when they refused to be filmed, because they were afraid.

What were they afraid of?

Of getting themselves in trouble. For example, the film could come out while they were in the middle of their trial and have a negative impact. Or no impact. It’s understandable.

Did the fact that many people refused to speak with you force you to alter your concept of the film?

Yes. I had thought that this would be a film about families, relationships within the family: about how parents reacted when their children refused to serve in the army. But that was impossible: the families didn’t want to talk.

In the film, only one person remained anonymous; the rest showed their faces. Did you have to talk them into this, or were they fine with it?

No, you should never talk people into anything, because it’s dangerous. None of them minded being filmed. I warned them that I didn’t know how everything would turn out and made sure that they understood the risks. They said “yes.” They had their reasons. One of the main guys said he wanted to help others who might be unaware of alternative civilian service. And another guy said that he hadn’t done much for his country. They were all young – what could they have done in their 20 years? But still, there was a sense of “I want to do something.”

How did you wind up adding the idea of interviewing people on the train to focusing on people opting for alternative civilian service during the war in Ukraine?

At first, we assumed that the film would show the guys’ actual environment. But since none of their parents agreed to speak with us, we had to look for an alternative. Traveling turned out to be a logical part of the film. I had to immerse myself in the environment, in the place where the mothers and grandmothers of these kids were living.

One environment where people are most closely packed together is, of course, a train, especially the economy sleeper cars. There, you can hear everything, and you get a sense of the country. A train is the face of a country, because everyone travels on trains.

How did you select which lines to use?

We planned our journeys to where our protagonists were located and, as we traveled to them, we interacted with people. We traveled across Siberia, through Leningrad and Tver oblasts, and in southern Russia. We looked for people across the entire country, but outside Siberia we didn’t find anyone, including, by the way, in Moscow.

Was it easy to find people in the trains willing to talk about the war in Ukraine and mobilization?

With some, it was very easy to talk. I spoke with them about life and gradually led them to those topics. Military members refused to discuss that, but ordinary people didn’t mind. For example, one woman on the train who spoke out against amazed me: to me, she looked like someone who would support the war. How deceptive our first impressions of people can be! And one old woman who was a fan of the war was very nice. I’m sure that she’s a good and kind person to her friends and family, but she said absolutely horrifying things. I don’t understand where that comes from. On the other hand, there were people who at first criticized the country and then said something in favor of the war.

You met those sorts of people too?

Yes. For example, in the film there’s a yogi. At first, he said that he was against the war, but then he thought about it and added: “This isn’t really a war, it’s a special military operation; nothing awful is happening there.” And I asked him: “Did you say that just now because you became scared?” He said “no.” And then the conversation took a completely different turn. It seems to me this is an example of someone who changed what he was saying out of fear. Another man said: “Old ladies get ten thousand [probably around $130 at the time, the low end of the range of monthly pension payments]! What kind of a country is this?” But when he saw the camera operator, who was just filming out the window, he suddenly added: “But in general, I’m pro-Putin. Putin rocks.”

Maybe people just got mixed up in their own emotions and thoughts?

I have the impression that people don’t think. As the Ukrainians like to say about us, it’s a slave mentality. It’s upsetting, but it seems to me that there’s a lot of truth to it. You understand that you are 100 percent dependent on the government, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You just know that there’s a law and you can’t violate it. They tell you to go off to war and you go. They tell you to sit home and mind your own business and you sit home. You may not like it, but you’ll submit to this power.

Have you noticed differences in the opinions of people across regions? There’s a common belief that the farther you go from Moscow, the more loyal the population is to the government. What do you think?

No, I understood a long time ago that this has nothing to do with distance from Moscow or where people are from. Or that an educated person won’t be a fan of the war and an uneducated person will. This is utter nonsense. For example, a female train conductor who spends 280 days a year in the train was against it and some intellectual-looking old woman was for it.

Probably it’s just the border areas that are more pro-war, since they can’t get away from it; they understand that they are in the war, and they have a bellicose attitude. But in Siberia, for example, there are almost no prowar signs and very few zetki [prowar Z’s on display]. These towns are almost totally removed from the war, they don’t hear it from there.

But as for the border zone: it’s worse there, because people have gotten used to it. In Rostov-on-Don you see military vehicles and soldiers on the street and you understand that people are connected to this war. This routineness made a strong impression on me: I realized that this could go on for a long time.

If this war is a part of life in the South, tomorrow it could be part of life in Tomsk [in Siberia].

If the environment your main subjects live in is like the train, where most people express support for the war in Ukraine, where do these rare individuals find the strength to push back? Where do they get that strength, if not from their families?

I also wondered about that: for example, where does this come from in someone growing up with alcoholics? These guys are, of course, unique. They broke free and found themselves in a completely different world. There was nothing to cultivate this character development; they were totally on their own. I think that it’s some sort of natural gift that compels them to seek, to learn something new. For example, one of the guys who got alternative service is very smart and interested in everything: he draws, reads, sings, plays the guitar, and learns languages. You look at him and think: “You really should leave and live a fabulous life somewhere else.”

Kids like that should leave?

For me, that’s not even a question. At the age of 22, of course they should leave. Clearly, they’ll be unlikely to return if this goes on for a long time. But that has to do with our problems, and we’re the ones who made it so they wouldn’t return.

Only one of your subjects said that he would leave if his life were in danger. Why not now?

First, they don’t have the money. Second, they have people they care about and things they love doing. There’s either a girlfriend unable to leave or parents they don’t want to abandon – the sorts of situations everyone has. They are good and responsible people who can’t just run away and ask for money.

One woman on the train blamed the current government for what is happening in Russia. Do these young men blame someone in particular for what’s happened?

On camera, one of the guys says that he at first blamed the state. But then he realized that if people support the government, then the problem is them. They generally blame everyone around them for indifference, for agreeing to whatever. That’s what I think: the problem isn’t with Putin; the problem is with this support. But I didn’t want these guys to clearly articulate their thinking. This was my own kind of censorship. It’s one thing to talk about alternative service and show how to go about getting it; it’s quite another to make someone open up and get him sent off for the rest of his life. That was not my objective. For me, someone’s life and liberty are more important than any documentary.

What else happened behind the scenes?

There were other interesting young men. One of them talked about how, after the war began, he went to visit his grandmother and grandfather, and they were sitting in front of the television with a map all excited about “how much land we’ve captured.” That’s a horrifying image. And it’s painful for young people.

They are all in the same situation with their parents, grandmothers, and grandfathers. None of them said that there was anyone neutral or against the war in their family. They can only hope – and for me this was most horrifying – that, deep down, their parents are on their side.

These guys were able to make their case in court and figure out all the paperwork at the age of 22 without their parents’ support. Boys like this are any parent’s dream. I can’t understand their mothers. As a mother, you should be protecting them, you should be urging them to go for alternative service. And you just walk around saying: “Well, okay, don’t go, although Putin said that conscripts won’t be taken anywhere [to fight in Ukraine].”

You thought these mothers would behave differently?

Of course. Even in terms of instinct, I can’t understand it: this is your child – where are you sending him off to? And this is happening in Siberia in particular, where they don’t hear the war. Who will he be defending, this smart and handsome son? It’s really appalling.

I clearly remember how my parents hid my brother during the Chechen war. My mother and father rushed around doing everything they could to ensure that he didn’t wind up in the army and in the war. And all the women around us were doing the same. Everyone understood that that was no place for their child.

I was sure the same thing would happen now, but even more so. During the Chechen War there were protest rallies in Moscow that I saw as a child. And I was sure that when mobilization started in 2022, women would be making mincemeat of the riot police. It didn’t happen. Things have really changed.

The film’s title, Save and Be Saved [«Спасись и сохранись»], mirrors the Orthodox expression “Save and preserve” [«Спаси и сохрани»]. That’s no coincidence, I assume?

There was a long and involved process behind the title. This version was the suggestion of Sasha Perepelova. At first I couldn’t accept it – it was too religious. And then I realized how nicely it reflected the situation. What else can you do in Russia? Saving and preserving yourself is the least you can do. And it also ties into computer games, where you also have to save and preserve yourself. And since these young guys play them a lot, I thought that this would mean something to them.

In other words, the film’s goal is to show that people in Russia who hold unpopular views about what is happening can still save and preserve themselves?

Yes, this is banal, but I drew this conclusion only after riding around and filming. You can’t punish an entire nation; you can’t say that all Russians support the war. Ukrainians can say that, and we all understand why. But people have to see that there are voices against. I wanted to make a record of that for when, in the future, we make sense of all this.

And another objective was to show that it’s possible to stay in the country and survive. There’s a concept in Judaism: if you save one life, you save the world. You don’t have to try to save everyone. This why the film’s main subjects agreed to be interviewed, so that someone would hear them and understand that there is the alternative service scenario. We hope that this will help someone.

Can you give a name to the overall mood of the people you spoke with?

Indifference. I can’t say that a lot of people said: “Hurrah! Let’s kill everyone.” But there was plenty of indifference. You got the feeling that people’s volition has atrophied. “We lived through that and we’ll live through this” – that sort of state. There’s no empathy, compassion, understanding that children, civilians, and soldiers on both sides are dying there [in Ukraine]. I think that anyone who acknowledges this will immediately change their attitude.

Is it indifference toward themselves?

Of course. For example, in the train we spoke to volunteers who said: “I got blasted by a rocket-propelled grenade.” And they laughed. He was in the hospital for five months, they had to piece him back together.

They all laugh about their situation. It’s a Russian reaction: “They blew my leg off, ha-ha-ha!”

This man is going to go back to fight. He also told us that when he would walk around a village in Zaporizhzhia Oblast [in Russian- occupied Ukraine], the young people seem more or less okay with him, but the old ladies yell at him: “What are you doing here? Get out.” And he was surprised by that: “How can they say such things to us liberators!” He can’t make sense of it. He thinks there’s something strange about the old ladies. But he’ll still go to “defend” them.

It seems your film doesn’t so much answer the question “Why are we like this?” as repeats it.

Probably yes. As soon as we boarded the train with our camera crew that was all anyone was talking about. We were endlessly horrified and shocked and couldn’t understand anything. I have no explanation for that. I’ve been trying to figure it out myself ever since the war began or even earlier. What kind of people are we? It seems to me that we’ll never answer the question of why we are the way we are.

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