Time to read: 8 minutes(s)

The headman of a Vladimir village almost achieved independence and self-government, but he was beaten and his house was burned down.

"Nobody wants to write about my problems. Some started writing, but then they were banned. Some journalists call me, asking how I'm doing, and that's it, they say, that's all they can do. And recently I called a friend and invited her over. She said, 'I'm afraid to even sit next to you, let alone visit.' That's how it is in our Yuryev-Polsky district." — says the former headman of the village of Kumino in the Yuryev-Polsky district of the Vladimir region Yuri Balabonkin.

He was elected mayor in 2012, and since then he's been demanding things from the district authorities—clearing the cemetery of trash, clearing the road of snow. Due to constant refusals, the villagers were forced to undertake the landscaping themselves, but Balabonkin continued to insist that it was the direct responsibility of officials. First, Balabonkin was threatened, then beaten, and then his house was burned down. Thus ended the village's "era of revival." Balabonkin shares his experience of "performing the duties of a village mayor" in his monologue for NeMoskva.

How it all began

My grandmother, mother, and aunt are from Kumino. My mother moved to Vladimir and worked there as a chief engineer at a defense plant. I was born in the regional center. I came here for all my holidays; everyone here remembers me as a little boy. When my mother retired, she moved to her own apartment in Yuryev-Polsky and gave me my grandmother's house. So, it's our family home, my ancestral home. I renovated it all: built the foundation, put a new roof. I dug a well.

One day, a spontaneous meeting took place in the village: people were discussing how to clear the cemetery and erect a monument to those who died in the Great Patriotic War. The head of the Krasnoselskoye settlement was invited to the meeting, and he said, "You need a village headman for this kind of thing." Who do you choose in such situations? The one who shouts the loudest. And so they chose me. I was 40 years old at the time. Our village is medium-sized—80 houses, mostly inhabited by summer residents.

Photos: komandirovka.ru, pinterest.com, Yandex.Maps

What did he manage to do?

— Almost immediately, I noticed the complete inaction of the local authorities. No matter what I asked, they answered with some nonsense. So we, six or seven locals, went off to clean up the cemetery ourselves; it was a complete mess. I said to the administration: at least allocate a little money, at least for gas, at least for a snack or beer for the guys! I don't drink, but I need something to cheer the guys up. They didn't give it. We chipped in for the monument ourselves—I collected 70,000 from house to house, plus 100,000 from a businessman from the Moscow region—our dacha owner—and 15,000 from a United Russia member from neighboring Sobinka; he's now "promoted" to the Legislative Assembly, but back then he was a normal guy. The Krasnoselsky administration only gave some paving stones for the monument's improvement. Oh well, we managed.

And it's the same with everything: clearing the roads in winter, mowing the grass at the village border—small things, but you can't get them to do it. True, they did clear everything in winter, I insisted. I'd just call and they'd tell me the tractor was already on its way.

Then I started asking for the Babka River to be cleared, and in the end, they chipped in again. We raised 70 rubles ourselves, and the regional administration gave us 70. Then we deepened the fire pond ourselves—how could a village live without one? We did it. But there's no access to it! I started asking, but they wouldn't do it. In fact, it wasn't even my job to do this, but the Ministry of Emergency Situations and the prosecutor's office. This isn't just a whim, it's a necessity, our safety. The administration is giving us nonsense again. What else could we do? We chipped in and did it ourselves.

And in parallel with all this, I started writing complaints about the administration. To the prosecutor's office, to the district administration, to the regional administration. What is a village elder, really? A conduit, an intermediary between the authorities and the people. It turns out the people have certain demands, but the authorities aren't responding to them. So what's the point of having such a local government? Let's have a different one.

I started asking for playgrounds...

How I lost my home, my health, and my friend

"A former prisoner came to me. He'd done time for rape, then for a fatal armed robbery, and then he started keeping horses around the village, Alabai dogs... I complained about him too. He came to me and said, 'Don't complain to the administration, just tell me what you need, I'll handle things.' I was surprised: what am I supposed to handle with you? The next time, he galloped up to me on a horse and beat me up, smashing my head in. He'd previously had a year's suspended sentence for a 'truckload' of drugs; I got a year's suspended sentence for mine, but then it was reduced to a few months. I figured it was a contract, and both the local police and the officials were on the hook for it."

In February 2021, I was in a Vladimir hospital due to health issues. Then they called me and said, "Yura, I think your house is on fire." They barely let me out of the hospital; the doctor said he'd be held criminally responsible if something happened. I arrived and it was a complete wreck, only the new roof remained. Everything inside was burned out. And my little dog, Mishka, was running around, whining. They'd set the fire in the back of the house, and the outbuildings there had burned down too. While our firefighters were on their way… They drove 5 kilometers, half an hour. In the end, they couldn't save us. The house was declared unfit for habitation, and the fire was arson. The forensic examination results are in. I'll never forget how I arrived at my mom's place with Mishka in my arms and said, "Will you let a homeless person in?" The house had burned down. And she—she was 80 years old—started sliding down the wall like that.

I took out a 64-ruble loan, bought a construction trailer, and installed electricity. It has everything you need: a stove, a bed, and all your belongings. I won't survive a third winter in it, though: it leaks and it's cold.

And recently my little dog Mishka was poisoned. It was like, well, they just poisoned him. It's a good thing he left a puppy behind; I took him in. We live with him.

How it all ended

"The head of the rural administration isn't going to give me housing. I filed a lawsuit, and he told me himself, 'I'll give you housing where you refuse to live!' And sure enough, he offered me housing in a remote place with no escape. Officials also hounded me, demanding that I deregister from the burned-down house—meaning I'd stop being in need. I refused, of course. And right after that, my Mishka was poisoned."

Only one person writes about what's going on here. in showl publiclyAnd there aren't even any comments under the posts about me—everyone's afraid, trying to avoid talking to Sergey [Sergey Trubkin, the public page's author] and me. One media outlet started writing about it, but they were quickly banned.

In 2021, the village administration, somewhere on the edge of the village, gathered its most "loyal" people, like a secret meeting, to remove me from my position as mayor. And they voted—some number of them. And then 70 people signed in my favor. And I made a "knight's move" and resigned voluntarily, so that the village wouldn't squabble over it. It's still a shame that people didn't gather, didn't come to the administration and say, "Are you completely out of your minds?" I was just doing my job, trying to do it well. So what now? And now everything is the same: nothing is being done, the roads aren't being cleared. So be it. They're all used to it. And they'll go back to voting for United Russia. Some don't want to understand anything, others are afraid.

In the photo: Yuri Balabonkin after the beating

A little bit about everything and the near future

— I couldn’t resist and wrote it down. viewappeal To Putin. So far, no reaction, just silence. Do I trust him? What else can I do? I've already gone through every door, even contacted the regional human rights commissioner—also just a vague reply. The district prosecutor kept saying, "Everything will be fine!" No one wants to work locally, doesn't even want to interact on a human level. None of this would have happened, and I wouldn't have had any complaints, if they'd told me, "Yura, the settlement's budget is small, how about we just do everything little by little? First, we'll deal with the cemetery, then the rest." And they would have done it little by little. But look at the mess they've made. At first, they praised me, and then that was it. They realized I intended to fulfill my duties responsibly, for real. Is that how you think a simple Russian man should live?

On the one hand, we have to stand up for what's right. On the other hand, they say another mayor's house was burned down in the region about 10 years ago. And recently, a friend defended his land in the neighboring village of Fedosyino—he and his wife... shotAnd yet my mother supports me. She says, "If I don't fight, what will happen? I lived on my knees, and now I'm going to die on my knees?"

So – to Moscow! I'm gathering all the documents and heading to Moscow...

In the photo: Balabonkin's new friend Mishka

Photo: from Yuri Balabonkin's social media