The First Quarter Of My Century

Corruption as Climate

In this essay, I argue that corruption is not merely about money or bribes. It is about an environment in which the meaningless becomes normalized, inefficiency is protected, and redundancy is built into the system. Corruption is a climate in which the unnecessary persists, activity is simulated, and the connection between actions and their real value disappears. I examine how this logic infiltrates not only institutions but everyday life: language, work, thought, and the way we spend our time. For me, this is not journalism – it is an attempt to capture a form of decay that begins with internal consent to the meaningless.

Corruption is not always about money. And almost never only about money. Money is merely an obvious trace, a consequence, a visible marker of a far deeper process that rarely appears in reports. Corruption is not a transaction. It is a climate.

Its presence does not necessarily manifest in bills or briefcases. It may lack a concrete episode, a criminal act, a «hero.» It can be formalized, coordinated, sanctioned – and still be fully present. Because at the heart of corruption lies not theft, but the breakdown of connections between a thing and its purpose, between function and execution, between words and deeds.

In an uncorrupted system, a person holds a position because of competence. A project exists because it is needed. A structure functions because it produces results. In a system infected by corruption, everything is inverted: a person remains in position because they cannot be removed. A project exists because it has already started. A structure exists because someone is responsible for it.

This is the essence of institutional decay: the impossibility of stopping the unnecessary. Fear of halting. Desire to prolong, preserve, leave untouched. Careful indifference, where every inefficiency protects someone else’s stability. Where emptiness becomes a status. Where simulation becomes a form of occupation.

Thus emerges an environment in which no action is strictly necessary. Everything exists «just in case.» It is created to exist, not to function. And within such an environment, people change. They do not become thieves – they become useless. Quietly. Carefully. With respect for the regulations. They know what to say, what to write in reports, what not to touch. They cease to seek real work.

This is the second stage – ethical corruption. When action loses its horizon, when the goal is not the result but the continuation of the process. When efficiency is a threat because it undermines stable inefficiency. At this stage, anything that does not imitate provokes anxiety, suspicion, unease.

At this stage, corruption ceases to be a violation. It becomes the norm. The fabric of the environment. Reproduced, maintained, justified. A collective tactic of self-preservation emerges: «Better this than worse.» «At least everything is calm here.» «No one bothers anyone.» A project long devoid of meaning persists because its closure would trigger inconvenient questions. A person who contributes nothing remains – because any replacement would create friction. And everything stays as it is – but without internal legitimacy, without belief.

At this point begins the third level – time corruption. It is quieter, not scandalous, but deeper. Because it is no longer about money, but attention, life, human hours spent on the unnecessary. Participation in what is not needed. Presence where there is no reason to be. Consent to be part of the unnecessary. This is the heaviest form: when the individual has not stolen, falsified, or lobbied, but simply devotes themselves daily to nothing. Without resistance. Without questioning. Without asking, «Why is this?»

In this context, doomscrolling is not laziness. It is participation in the general corruption of time. Lingering in a feed mirrors a meaningless meeting. Procrastination is not personal weakness but a symptom of an environment where results are irrelevant, goals diffuse, and everything can continue indefinitely, simply for the sake of continuation. We learn to be busy – but not necessary.

This is the true scale of corruption. It is not that something was stolen, but that everything remains in place. The meaningless persists. The redundant is protected. The superfluous is untouchable. The necessary is accidental. No criminal statute can capture this condition. Because it exists not in acts, but in the air, in the structure of everyday life. In language, where «held a meeting» sounds like achievement. In reports, where the line «completed» closes any question. In a tone where initiative provokes concern and the initiator provokes suspicion.

What is to be done? Probably not destruction. That is a temptation: expose, fire, cancel. But corruption does not fear loud words. It fears the simple question of necessity. «Why this?» – the most subversive question in a bureaucratic environment. Because it requires not an answer, but justification. And justification is rarely stable in a system that relies on the status quo, on inertia, on collective consent not to see.

Fighting corruption means not chasing, but naming. Naming things as they are. Recognizing the useless as useless. Ceasing participation in simulations. And, above all, restoring to the individual the internal right to meaning: to ask oneself and others the uncomfortable question, «Why this?»

As long as this question is asked, resistance is still possible. Quiet. Invisible. But real. Resistance – not to the system, but to meaninglessness. And therefore to the deepest form of corruption: the corruption of distinctions between what is necessary and what merely exists.

Freedom

In this text, I reflect on freedom not as a right or external possibility, but as an internal state requiring maturity. It was important for me to establish that freedom begins not where constraints disappear, but where a person is capable of acting without the need for external validation and without the impulse to justify themselves. I distinguish freedom from arbitrariness, from mere will, and from public gesture.

Freedom is not equivalent to the presence of rights. It does not arise from legal recognition, political conditions, or social guarantees. These parameters create external possibilities for action but do not determine its internal nature. Freedom is not a category of external space; it is a characteristic of a subject capable of autonomous decision-making and bearing responsibility for those decisions.

The notion of freedom is often substituted with the idea of arbitrariness. Yet arbitrariness requires no effort – it is a product of impulse, inertia, or inclination. Freedom presupposes the existence of choice, but choice alone does not render an action free. It becomes free only when the subject is aware of the consequences and accepts them as their own.

In this context, freedom is linked not to possibility, but to readiness. Readiness to act without external justification and without internal self-justification. It begins at the moment when a decision is made not in anticipation of approval or understanding, but as an expression of a position that requires no verification. A free act is not explained – it registers the measure of the subject’s maturity.

Freedom requires discipline. Abandoning discipline in favor of self-expression is not liberation, but a form of dependence on the arbitrary. To be free is not to follow the first impulse, but to pause, distinguish, evaluate, and assume responsibility for the consequences. It is not an act of negation, but a form of consent to the necessity of being the cause of one’s own action.

Immaturity does not reject freedom, but it cannot sustain it. It requires structure, external sanction, or a moral referent. In conditions of uncertainty, the immature subject tends either toward submission or withdrawal. Both options exclude freedom as action within the bounds of personal responsibility. Therefore, freedom is possible only where the subject can bear the consequences without delegating blame.

Freedom is not a collective state. A collective may provide conditions for choice, but it cannot guarantee the maturity of each participant. Freedom is indivisible. It exists within each consciousness as the capacity for action independent of validation. In this sense, freedom is always individual, and therefore always entails risk.

Discussions of freedom often focus on power, politics, or economics. Yet in the philosophical sense, freedom is an anthropological category. It concerns the structure of the subject, not the structure of society. Changes in institutions do not generate freedom where the internal capacity to bear it is absent.

Thus, freedom is not a condition of possibility, but a form of maturity. Not a position, but a tension. Not a right, but a choice exercised in the absence of external protection. Not a gesture, but an action for which the subject assumes the consequences. Where this is possible, there is freedom. Where it is not, there is only reaction, submission, or flight.

Processed People

In this essay, I analyze the phenomenon of so-called «processedness» as it appears in language, behavior, and professional environments. My interest is not psychological but structural: how a behavioral model, presented as maturity, substitutes reflection with automatism, and participation with controlled distance. I aim to show why culturally «processed» people are often the least capable of action, and to distinguish genuine inner work from its verbal simulations.

The word «processed» has established itself in contemporary speech as an independent marker of human completeness. It emphasizes an allegedly traversed path – inner, emotional, psychic. It is used confidently, as a diagnosis or a certificate of maturity. Yet closer inspection reveals that behind this word lies less reflection than behavioral standardization. Processedness, in its mass usage, is not internal transformation, but a regular demonstration of manageability.

A typical «processed» person speaks evenly, looks calm, refrains from sharp reactions, and frames their detachment as a boundary. They employ standard formulas: «I do not take on others’ problems,» «I am in contact with myself,» «It is important for me to preserve my resources,» «I do not go where I am unsafe.» These formulas are socially validated, instill trust, and create an appearance of stability and responsibility. But in most cases, they do not signify maturity – they signify minimal engagement.

What externally appears as emotional equilibrium often masks an incapacity for tension. A person who calls themselves processed may not be mature, but simply well-trained in a behavioral model approved within psychotherapeutically oriented environments. This model requires no internal depth. It requires correct speech. And this is its problem.

Processedness, devoid of substance, becomes a new form of normativity. It leaves no room for impulse, risk, conflict, pain, or doubt. All complexity is immediately interpreted as immaturity. If you are irritated, you are «projecting.» If you argue, you have «triggered a pattern.» If you care, «that is your story.» Consequently, any form of living reaction becomes suspect. Anything outside protocol is reduced to «unprocessed.»

Thus arises a secondary language, unrelated to thinking. It does not investigate – it classifies. It does not engage with what is – it immediately labels. It is a language of psychological bureaucracy, where every emotional phenomenon is packaged into an explanation and loses its density.

In this environment, the «processed» emerge as socially convenient. Yet they are often the least capable of action. Not because they are weak, but because they refuse everything associated with internal tension, disruption, and uncertainty. Where quick decisions are required, where there is no emotional safety, where control cannot be maintained, the processed person falters. They withdraw, close off, distance themselves – and call it a boundary. They will not enter open conflict, even if it is necessary. They will not engage in a tense dialogue, preferring «not to get involved.» They cannot endure prolonged uncertainty – because any disturbance of stability represents a «threat to resources.» Within a team, they inspire trust – until action under risk, crisis, or instability is required. Then they disappear – physically or psychologically. Intellectual and moral self-exclusion takes place, framed as self-respect.

The processed person is not toxic. But they are sterile. Their behavior is predictable, not deep. Their speech is smooth, not precise. Their actions are safe, not decisive. They replace thinking with emotional correctness, effort with methodical execution, inner reflection with verbal automatism. They do not destroy, but they do not create. They are embedded. Balanced. Harmless. And that is their central problem.

Truly processed people are not those who avoid involvement, but those who can be present under tension and not evade it. They are not those who have constructed boundaries, but those who know when to violate them. They are not those who have «worked through everything,» but those who can be in conflict with themselves – and continue to act. They are not protected. They are not stable. But they answer – not with words, but with deeds. Not to the system, but to their own conscience.

Genuine processedness is not a set of regulations. It is a way of being in a living, contradictory, unbalanced reality – without detachment, without façade, without schema. It is not about appearing even. It is about sustaining tension and resisting the simplification of oneself into the correct word.

Russia. Those Who Do Not Give Up

I am not interested in the external representation of Russia, but in what sustains it in reality: the people who continue to do their work – calmly, without pathos, without seeking recognition. I write about participation without rhetoric, about loyalty without naivety, and about that form of inner resolve on which everything truly rests.

The state can be described. Power can be evaluated. Symbolism can be reflected upon. But the country itself, as experience, as presence, as the field of everyday responsibility, cannot be fully defined. It does not coincide with what represents it. It is not exhausted by what is said about it.

In Russia, this difference between the formal and the genuine is especially pronounced. Here, the country has never existed solely as a hierarchy, as a construct. It has always lived below – in those who simply did not step back from their responsibilities. Not for glory, not out of fear, not from habit, but because retreating was impossible. Or, more precisely, because they did not wish to.

They are not quoted. They do not participate in dialogues about the future. They do not seek validation. They work. Sometimes tiredly. Sometimes silently. But day after day, they continue to do what gives foundation to everything else. They do not represent the country. They are its substance.

Their presence is almost always unacknowledged. They demand no name. They are invisible in grand narratives. Yet without them, nothing holds: neither language, nor land, nor rhythm. They are those who do not leave their role when it becomes awkward. Who continue when others explain why they stopped. Who remain when it would be easier to walk away.

They are not heroes. They are ordinary, stable, inwardly resolved people who do not divide the country into «them» and «us,» but simply take responsibility for what concerns them. Not within ideological frameworks. Not in service mode. But by inner decision: if not me, then who?

The country does not demand agreement with every step. But it demands participation – not in words, not in concepts, but in actions for which no applause is sought. For the country is not sustained by voice. It is sustained by engagement. By the engagement that is invisible, yet without which everything else becomes mere surface.

Every time someone says, «this country is not for me,» somewhere nearby someone continues to do their work. Without comment. Without defense. Without excess meaning. Simply because they know: if abandoned, if withdrawn, if devalued – nothing will remain. Not because the structure will collapse, but because it is impossible to inhabit a place in which no one is invested.

Thus, I think of the country not as a state. Nor as a set of symbols. But as a network of internal decisions: not to leave, not to simplify, not to accuse, not to abdicate responsibility. These decisions are rarely spoken. They are lived. And in them lies the form of maturity that makes possible something greater than mere survival.

Moscow Dress Code

In this essay, I examine the Moscow dress code as an informal mechanism of urban discipline. I am interested in how visual neutrality and external structure become conditions for inclusion in everyday social processes.

In megacities with high event density and competition for resources, clothing gradually loses its function as self-expression. Instead, it acquires the status of an external interface that regulates primary access to social interaction. Moscow, as an administrative-economic system, has developed a stable model of visual recognition – not codified formally, but functioning with the regularity of an institution.

In this context, the dress code is not etiquette or a fashion gesture, but a filtration mechanism that reduces the transaction costs of urban life. It minimizes time spent on identification, providing rapid visual access to markers of competence, reliability, and contextual inclusion. Violating the visual code does not trigger sanctions, but it automatically lowers the level of trust and accessibility in professional, service, and communicative chains.

This reveals one of the key functions of the dress code: ordering urban uncertainty. In an environment where deep personal contact is impossible, clothing substitutes for primary biography. It signals the level of self-regulation and the ability to operate within normative boundaries.

In Moscow, as in other large administrative capitals, the dress code is not a tribute to taste or a legacy of bourgeois aesthetics. It is a form of behavioral precision embedded in the overall tempo of urban productivity. Clothing without a system, without understanding the context, or with excessive individuality is perceived not as a cultural trait, but as low adaptability to the urban environment. In this sense, the Moscow dress code should be understood not as a representation of social taste, but as a regulatory mechanism of high density. It is not formalized, but recognized through the uniformity of criteria: cleanliness, structured silhouette, color neutrality, absence of expressive deviations. These parameters cannot be precisely described, yet they are consistently reproduced in mass urban behavior.

The visual code is the result of constant feedback control produced by the city as a system. Appearing outside this norm is not cultural deviation, but a protocol error. It does not provoke overt aggression, but reduces functional trust. In practice, a person dressed «informally» receives less attention, integrates more slowly into role interactions, and is more often outside the focus of structured contact. They are perceived not as different, but as unprepared.

Thus, clothing in Moscow performs the function of marking suitability for inclusion in the city’s logic. This logic is based on tempo, density, and predictability. People who follow the visual code are interpreted as reliable carriers of role behavior. Their presence does not require additional verification; they are «in order.» From a systems theory perspective, this is a form of reducing uncertainty through visual control.

It is essential to emphasize that the Moscow dress code is not a demonstration of status. It is a threshold norm of acceptability. It does not assert superiority, but communicates sufficiency. In this sense, it is closer to technical verification than to cultural expression. A person dressed «appropriately» does not prompt questions about who they are, why they are present, or how functional they are.

Equally important is that the Moscow dress code does not demand excessive visual activity. On the contrary, excessive expressiveness, individualized styling, or a demonstrative refusal of the neutral visual norm is perceived as disrupting the general rhythm of the environment. Such violations are not formalized, but result in exclusion from role dynamics. This is a silent mechanism of social auto-regulation: not a sanction, but non-inclusion.

In this sense, the Moscow dress code operates according to the principle of visual silence. Clothing should be unmarked. It should not «speak»; it should not interfere with reading. In conditions of attention overload, high competition for focus, and limited time, such parameters help maintain relative manageability of the environment.

For this reason, people living and working in Moscow gradually develop a stable model of external neutrality. This is not an act of submission. It is a necessary measure to coordinate with the urban structure, which does not allow unlimited diversity at the level of behavioral surface. A person in an uncontrolled form is perceived as a risk – not in the sense of threat, but in terms of cost: they require interpretation, clarification, explanation. In an environment where there is no time for such actions, this becomes an obstacle.