There is a lot of talk about the Ukrainian war in the media, films are made and books are written, but the unspoken social contract implies that arguing about whether it was worth fighting in the first place or whether Putin was right will not make anyone better off.
Analysts and historians write about the international context, screenwriters and writers prefer specific heroic episodes on small segments of the front, and the names of places – like Bakhmut, Avdiivka and Chasiv Yar – still sound like elements of some big and glorious story that it is not entirely yet time to tell.
Long-standing fears that veterans, faced with the reality of life in Russia, would trigger a new wave of banditry and everyday violence have generally not materialized. It has been a while since we heard about former Wagner soldiers, having come back from Ukraine, killing or mauling someone; in a few years’ time, they all disappeared, some went back to prison, some died, but the main thing is that there are not so many of them relative to the size of the country.
Meanwhile, ordinary veterans, mobilized soldiers, career military men – there are a lot of them. Some are armless and legless; others look like everyone else. Impressionable journalists write about some special expression in their eyes, but this is probably a matter of imagination. When there is a holiday and civil servants get together somewhere, many men have awards on their jackets – but these are bureaucrats; the rest keep their awards at home. No one is in the habit of wearing them, and no one asks them to – frontoviki, as the song goes, don your orders.
On social media and in the independent press, a lot is written about the lost generation – the expression is well-known, old, common, but it should not be taken literally; generationally these people range from thirty-year-olds to the oldest of the old.