Time to read: 23 minutes(s)

Ten years ago, the "Children of War" project was launched in Penza for people whose childhood coincided with the Great Patriotic War. Its participants—now all over 80—traveled together, organized creative evenings, learned how to use gadgets, and visited cafes to figure out which ones were best suited for the older generation. All of this was funded by the German foundation "Remembrance, Responsibility, and Future," which helps people who suffered under Nazism. Everything changed when, in the summer of 2023, the Russian State Duma passed a law banning the receipt of funds from foreign NGOs not registered with the Ministry of Justice. The project was forced to close. Journalist Vika Solkina, speaking exclusively for "Not Moscow Speaks," and New Tab tells how pensioners live, having been deprived of a normal childhood by one state, and now deprived of a dignified old age by another – its own.

"What do I care about the lion? Should I be afraid of him? I'd eat him myself! Bring him here! It's time to settle accounts with him!" the gray-haired woman in the hare mask declaims in a loud, menacing voice.

She and three other pensioners, dressed as animals, are performing a skit based on a poem by Sergei Mikhalkov. The text is read by an elderly man in a formal suit and tie, who also pronounces his lines clearly and expressively. This is the "Fidgets" team.

At the next table sit the "Dandelions"—they've composed their own poems. They take their turn forming a semicircle in front of the table, passing the microphone back and forth, reciting:

"We're all doing well and we're not forgotten. We can handle anything, the doors are open to us. Let's love, enjoy, and live!"

Several dozen people are watching the performances. Both the audience and the performers are members of the "Children of War" project. They continue to call themselves by that name, even though the community by that name hasn't existed since the summer of 2023. "Children of War" in Penza появились ten years ago, and all this time they worked as part of the charitable foundation "Civil Union." Now they've been taken under the wing of another local foundation, "People.Ideas," who discovered A new project—"Active Longevity 80+." However, the retirees don't care about the names—the most important thing for them is getting together.

The members joined the project at different times, and initially, only their age united them—they were all children during the Great Patriotic War. Over time, their common interests expanded, including creative activities, cafe gatherings, and concert performances. The community now comprises 1700 people from across the region, 700 of whom live in Penza.

In September, the "Children of War" group celebrates its 10th anniversary in a small hall at the city library. They are all over eighty, but their celebration feels more like a student party than a get-together for the elderly. After their artistic performances, the "Fidgets" and "Dandelions" begin a game of "What? Where? When?" All rounds of the quiz are dedicated to their project.

Photos appear on the screen, and the players use them to remember the cities they visited together. The screen in the library room is small, so the grandparents get up from their tables and move closer to the television, exchanging glances, pointing to the photos, and arguing in hushed tones. Sometimes they have to ask the audience for help. Someone recognizes a photo of a tour of the Kuvaka cultural and historical center in a village near Penza, while here they are in Gatchina.

All of the Children of War's travels couldn't fit into a single game: over ten years, they traveled through 13 districts of the Penza region and visited many other cities—meeting with silver volunteers in Samara and Saransk, and attending a gerontology conference in Tambov.

"Friendship wins!" Olga Leshchenko, curator of the "Active Longevity 80+" project, announced with a smile as the game concluded. Next, diplomas were presented to the most active community members, and an open microphone was used by the pensioners to congratulate each other.

The loudest applause goes to Veniamin Krutov, who recites a congratulatory message in verse. While some applaud, others film the poet's performance on their phones. The pensioners also learned mobile photography through the project—they were given special training sessions on using gadgets.

After the official ceremony, a group of eight spontaneously decided to continue celebrating the anniversary at a restaurant. As part of the nationwide "Approved by the Older Generation" campaign, "Children of War" had been visiting cafes, movie theaters, bars, and other establishments for several years to assess their accessibility for seniors. If they liked a place, they left the owners a special sticker.

Olga Leshchenko says the project's participants are friendly customers, so no establishment has gone without a sticker. Thanks to this campaign, many pensioners have found favorite cafes in the city, where they sometimes stop for lunch or after an event.

As several elderly women walk through the park, discussing which establishment to go to next, young men sitting on a bench look at them with smiles and wish them good health. The grandmothers smile back.

Some are walking quickly, others a little slower. "Girls, pick up the pace!" Inna Prokhorova shouts loudly and clearly to those lagging behind, explaining, "I have a Levitan-like voice." A pair of friends, who had been leisurely walking down the street, arm in arm, quicken their pace. "Well, we have heart problems," one of them reminds them.

First, they try a dumpling shop on the main street, but quickly leave because the place is "too stuffy." On the advice of one of the participants, the group heads to the Lu-Lu cafe. This establishment operates as a cafeteria, so it's crowded at lunchtime, but the women quickly clear out their trays and join the line. Meanwhile, others begin pushing tables together in the dining room—one isn't enough for their group.

“They’ll scold us,” one of the festival participants cautiously remarks.

"Who? They'll be glad we came!" Klavdiya Krutova replies with a smile, and when the "construction set" of tables and chairs is assembled, she adds, "See how friendly we are!"

The large table quickly fills with plates: cutlets and fish with side dishes, soups, salads. The women try to organize a real feast.

Inna Prokhorova rises to make a toast:

"We're the first ones on this project. And now, we're ten years old. We came here as girls—so young and beautiful. Now, ten years older, we're all wonderful, cheerful, and smiling. I think we're the backbone of the project, and when you have a backbone in a team like this, it means the project has lived, is living, and will live on."

At first, most of the patrons, noticing the festivities, turn away at the door and head into the next room. Only when the space there is full do people begin to occupy the adjacent tables. But the women pay no attention to the others—they devour soups and salads with gusto, drink beer, laugh, and discuss hobbies and family.

Suddenly, in the midst of a noisy conversation, someone suggests counting grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

"It's believed that if you live to see your great-grandchildren, all your sins are washed away," says Inna Alekseyevna. "I have two great-grandchildren, so that means I'm starting to sin all over again."

The women take up the discussion.

"I have seven great-grandchildren, the eldest is 24," says Klavdiya Mikhailovna. Her friends ask, "What, real great-grandchildren, like family?"
“Yes, all relatives,” Klavdiya clarifies with a smile, and the participants in the feast applaud her grandmother.

From time to time, they talk about things that only participants in the "Children of War" project understand. Inna Alekseevna reminds her friends that they need to remember to "befriend the 5 Cs." The 5 Cs are the five rules for mental health taught to them by the project's psychologist. "Laughter, sunshine, sex, exercise, and sleep," Inna Alekseevna lists. "And I even have a sixth!" "And what is that?" they ask at the table. "Lard!" she replies with a laugh.

The feast ends as orderly as it began: the women quickly set the tables in place and carry away the dishes.

“We had a good time, let’s say thank you to each other,” Klavdiya says to her friends.

"Everything was delicious, thank you, we'll be back!" the customers loudly say to the staff as they say goodbye.

Galina Arkhangelskaya can be found at almost every event of the Children of War project. Although her health no longer allows her to move much—her knees often ache—she still grabs a cane and goes to the planetarium, the library, or to project meetings.

"They put these goggles on us. And—oops! I'm standing on the edge," Galina Georgievna recounts her first time playing laser tag. "Suddenly someone runs at me, pushing me. I stood up and just kept shooting. Did I like it? Well, it's okay for variety. If you do that all the time, it certainly dulls your brain. But sometimes it's okay. But what about sitting within four walls? That gets boring too."

Over the years, the "Children of War" have been evaluating more than just cafes; they've also visited many shopping centers in Penza, including bowling at one of them.

“I really liked it!” Galina Georgievna recalls enthusiastically. “It was my first time [playing]—well, I knew they rolled balls there, but not exactly, not how. And, most importantly, I won. There were only fifteen of us. Three lanes, and we rolled balls. So, we later presented [the bowling alley administration] with a sign saying, ‘Approved by the older generation,’ so that old people could go there, not just young ones. And then we sat down at ‘Vkusno, Period’ and ate a burger. The buns were delicious. Of course, you can’t eat that every day, but sometimes you can. When you don’t feel like cooking.”

Arkhangelskaya was among the first to join the "Children of War" project. Galina Georgievna enjoys her role as organizer most of all—she puts together many of the creative exhibitions featuring the participants' work. She also prepared the exhibition for the project's anniversary: ​​she carefully displayed and labeled all the handcrafted items created by the "Children of War" participants—beaded jewelry, embroidery, and paintings—in glass display cases in the library hall.

Galina Georgievna's apartment also resembles a bit of an exhibition—Arkhangelskaya has preserved many items from the Soviet era. Some have become part of the interior, while others are long unused, but she can't bring herself to throw them away.

In the small room, she carefully climbs onto a stool and opens the mezzanine. "Here, I was planning to take this to the museum. I guess I should," she sighs, taking out a calculating machine—the kind she used at work several decades ago.

Galina Georgievna also brings back other nostalgic items from various corners of the apartment: hand-embroidered tablecloths—a dowry from her aunt, her late husband's cigarette holder shaped like a stack of books, eyeshadow, and two bottles of "Red Moscow" perfume—one for men and one for women. "It was the best perfume in the country. I was a fashionable woman, yes," she recalls.

Galina Georgievna says the first meetings of the "Children of War" project participants began with similar reminiscences of life. Galina Georgievna says that her first husband died in 2013. She was "unsettled" for a long time, but tried not to shut herself off from the world.

And when a friend invited her to a meeting of a new association for people born during the Great Patriotic War, she decided not to refuse. There were very few of them then, and they met in a small room in the historic Governor's House.

Incidentally, the Children of War meeting space issue remains unresolved. Three locations are available for grandparents in Penza: the Youth Center, the Klever coworking space, and the Yunost youth center. However, the first two require climbing stairs to the second floor, while they can't come to Yunost whenever they want—they have to adapt to their schedules.

Galina Georgievna was born in 1938 in the Saratov region, and then moved with her parents to Pyatigorsk to live with her grandmother. They had to stay there until the end of the war—when German troops arrived, they were planning to evacuate along with everyone else, but they didn't make it. Galina vividly remembers the moment she and her father were "riding" a horse across a field when they suddenly began to hear the sounds of planes flying overhead. "The sound of those German planes was so terrifying, it chilled me to the bone. I still remember how they hit! We stopped, my father grabbed me in his arms, threw me into a ditch, and covered me with his body. That field, admittedly, wasn't bombed, but we could hear the whistles."

Her mother quit her job at the hospital and stayed with her daughter at her mother-in-law's house, where she continued to work as a cook and was able to provide for them. Galina Georgievna recalls that they rarely went out at that time, only walking in the yard. One day, a German came to their house. “Mom was sitting there, hugging me tightly. [The German] said, ‘Kinder, Kinder!’ and gave me a chocolate bar. Mom taught me never to take anything from anyone. But here he didn’t know what to say—‘Don’t take it,’ he’d shoot you; ‘take it,’ he’d poison you. So she gently nudged me. I went over and took the chocolate bar in my little hands. He muttered something and left. Mom sat there, half-dead,” she recalls. “I don’t remember whether she ate the chocolate bar or not. We kept quiet afterward. Well, the Germans there [in Pyatigorsk] weren’t exactly up to no good.”

After the war, Galina's family moved to the village of Pachelma near Penza. After finishing school, Galya worked there briefly as a salesperson before moving to Penza to study to become a computer design technician. Arkhangelskaya worked in this field her entire life and later taught her specialty at a technical college. Even before the project, Galina Georgievna enjoyed her retirement and continued to lead an active life. She loved to travel with her husband, especially taking cruises.

After she became a member of "Children of War," she met her second husband, Viktor Mikhailovich. He, too, passed away five years ago. Galina Georgievna remembers her husband with a smile: "As they say, two lonely souls met, and they brightened each other's lonely years. He also contributed a lot to the project—we traveled together through districts and cities."

After his death, Galina Georgievna returned to living alone, and the "Children of War" project became her "second life"—she feels needed there. Arkhangelskaya laughingly says that now she has "no personal life, only a public one," but quickly adds that "it's better than staring at the ceiling."

"Oh, she's so sweet! That's what I said, and it still excites me," Veniamin Krutov recalls with delight how he met his future wife, Klavdia.

At Children of War events, Veniamin Andreevich often reads his poems. Sometimes the couple takes the stage together and sings a duet. Klavdiya Mikhailovna says with a smile that she's been following him around the project like a little leash. Veniamin looks at his wife seriously: "No, she's my navigator." They've been together for sixty-two years.

The Krutovs remember their wartime childhood differently. Klavdiya Mikhailovna was born in 1942 in the town of Bogdanovich in the Sverdlovsk region; her only clear memory is of her mother cooking them quinoa porridge. However, she remembers the post-war years well: to feed herself, the children in her family had to go into the forest to pick berries; her mother was unable to work, caring for her father, who was disabled.

Veniamin Andreevich is older than his wife and has more memories of his wartime childhood. One of the most vivid is when his mechanic father "trailed" a downed Soviet attack aircraft on a tractor, and the pilots stayed at their home for several days after the incident.

He also remembers well what their native state farm in the Voronezh region looked like when they had just returned home from evacuation – weapons and “all sorts of ammunition” could be found everywhere.

"The pilots were good guys. But I remember I did something mean," Veniamin Andreevich recounts. "They [the pilots] didn't think to give the boy a treat themselves, so the boy took half a loaf of bread and hid it. It was a lesson for me—my mother scolded me, my father scolded me, and I didn't even have time to eat a bite."

"I can clearly see it: a tank standing in the river," Veniamin Andreevich describes the "picture." "I see me and the guys wandering around, collecting these cartridges. And there were all sorts of boys among us—some older, probably in fifth grade. And some, like me, about eight years old. And so we had this fun—we'd light a fire, hide, and throw these cartridges away."

When Veniamin Andreevich grew older, he had no time for entertainment - from the fifth grade onwards he worked a lot on the state farm: shepherding calves, raking hay, and guarding horses.

Veniamin met his future wife later, in the closed city of Sverdlovsk-45, where he worked as a factory foreman after completing his studies, while Klavdiya lived with her sister and finished school. Veniamin noticed her from the bus window: "I'm sitting by the window, nothing better to do. I see this girl walking by in some little speckled coat. She seems so cute." After that meeting, they ran into each other regularly—at the bus stop, at the movie theater. Finally, Veniamin asked Klavdiya out on a date. From then on, they began seeing each other more often; a year and a half later, they married, and a year later, they got an apartment.

The Krutovs lived and worked in closed cities their entire lives—from Sverdlovsk-45, they moved to Zarechny in the Penza region. Klavdiya worked as a radio equipment assembler, and Veniamin graduated from evening college and became an engineer, later taking up teaching. The couple had two children. Klavdiya balanced caring for them with her daily life and work.

"Oh my god, for fourteen years she was alone with the kids in the evenings. I'd leave at six and come back at nine. And so I told Klava I'd take on some household responsibilities to compensate for the hardships you've endured. Washing dishes is now my divine duty, and so is scrubbing floors. So now I have four dishes I cook well: borscht, field soup, Ukrainian cutlets, and solyanka."

"I've gotten lazy, basically. I've gained weight. We used to have it this way: whoever got up from the table first washed the dishes. But now we cook, eat, and I say, 'Well, have I had my fill?'" Klavdiya laughs.

When the project celebrated its tenth anniversary, Klavdiya and Veniamin sat in the hall holding hands.

"We're probably a bit crazy," Klavdiya Mikhailovna laughs. "It's rare for people to go everywhere together like that. I'm very easy-going; no one goes out like I do [to events in the project]. I can't sit at home. Even if I have to take a taxi—it's expensive, so what? What do I need the money for? To spend it on myself."

Rimma Promskaya takes out an album from her wall unit and shows a photograph of a young smiling woman posing for the camera at her desk.

"Here I am, in the office. They're seeing me off into retirement," Rimma Vasilyevna clarifies, adding after a pause, "Yes, and now, too, no one believes I'm 83 years old."

Rimma Vasilyevna takes care of her manicure and hair—"all by herself." She was recently invited to model for a local clothing store ad. She shows photos of herself posing in bright, youthful clothes and says that people she knows didn't even recognize her at first. Sometimes, Rimma Vasilyevna jokes in the choir, where many members are younger than her: "Aren't you tired of the non-extinct lizard yet?" The group shrugs it off: "You're our gem!"

Rimma Promskaya is accustomed to an active life, so she found plenty to do with the Children of War project. She is a silver volunteer (as is the international standard). called (Volunteers over 55): She regularly calls other participants to tell them about the upcoming events and simply chats with those who can't attend due to health issues. Rimma Vasilyevna takes her volunteering seriously—she even has a list of over thirty people she supports.

Promskaya's choir also sometimes performs at events organized by the "Children of War" project. Her love of music was instilled in her by her stepfather, who managed to somehow get his hands on musical instruments. "He wasn't a musical person at all, he was from a completely different field, but his ear was so well developed that he taught us to play by ear. I played the guitar, he played the mandolin, and my sister Zoinka played the balalaika."

Rimma Vasilyevna recalls that her stepfather saved her, her mother, and her sister from poverty and hunger—after the death of her father, who returned from the front with serious wounds, they were forced to live in a dugout. "If you tell anyone now, they won't believe you. Three of us were lying there, and I was in the middle. I remember that already; it was 45," Promskaya recounts with a sigh.

Rimma's stepfather, whom she later called "daddy," took them to the Kuril Islands. What Rimma Vasilyevna remembers most from that time was the "huge" rose hip. "Later, I saw an ordinary rose hip, and I remember asking, 'What is that?'" This was after I arrived in Ukraine. As they say now, "to Ukraine." Lord, I hope they're all healthy. Anyway, I was surprised then. Back in the Kuril Islands, my mother used to divide the rose hips into pieces and make jam.

Rimma Vasilyevna recalls that the famine she experienced long affected her attitude toward food. Only years later did she decide she could eat whatever she wanted. "I decided I could do anything. If I wanted cake, I'd go and eat it. Maybe tomorrow I wouldn't be able to eat it at all. I love salted fish. If you woke me up at night and offered me herring, I'd eat it."

Rimma Vasilyevna's family arrived in Penza in 2001. Their time together in the new city was short-lived—her husband died of a heart attack, and she has been living alone for seventeen years. Five years ago, her only son also died. Rimma Vasilyevna keeps a bottle of perfume—her husband's last gift to them on Valentine's Day. He passed away that same day. She says that after his death, the perfume began "evaporating on its own," and when it vanished, "she would be gone too."

Rimma Vasilyevna remembers her husband with tears, but when she talks about the project, she's distracted from these sad thoughts—she still has a lot to do. Besides caring for the disabled participants, she's involved in the "Warmth as a Gift" campaign—participants knit blankets, which they then sell to raise money to support their project.

In August 2023 in Russia the law was passed regarding penalties for cooperation with foreign charitable organizations not registered with the Ministry of Justice. These amendments cut off the project's main funding channel—the Civil Union received an annual grant for "Children of War" from the German foundation "Remembrance. Responsibility and Future." The foundation established a separate program to help surviving victims of National Socialism in Russia and Belarus.

Oleg Sharipkov, director of the Civil Union, says the Germans donated approximately 15-20 euros annually. This money covered not only the participants' leisure time but also the work of the project's permanent specialists, including the volunteer group coordinator, psychologist, gerontologist, accountant, and manager. "The salaries are low, incomparable to those in any commercial organizations," Sharipkov asserts.

He said the new restrictions were also a surprise for the German foundation, but they are ready to continue collaborating when the opportunity arises. "They can finance it, but they'll grab us all," he clarified.

Project participant Galina Arkhangelskaya recalls that even earlier, when the director of the Civil Union (as well as the organization itself) Sharipkov recognized The participants of the Children of War project attended all the court hearings to appeal his status as a foreign agent, but they were “not even allowed to say a word in his defense.”

"What kind of foreign agent is Oleg Viktorovich? He's done so much good for people. If he weren't a foreign agent, who would be raising money [for the Children of War project]?" she asks, perplexed.

Although Galina Georgievna was saddened by the news that the German foundation would no longer be able to finance Children of War, she remains optimistic: "We'll figure something out. No, we can't be dispersed; the people here have come alive!" New participants continue to join the project—fewer than before, but they still come regularly.

Currently, the "Children of War" project is supported by two charitable organizations: People.Idea and the regional branch of the Russian Peace Foundation. In 2023, People.Idea won the competition The Presidential Grants Fund is funding a new project, "Active Longevity 80+," but the funds will only last until the new year.

It is still unknown whether it will be possible to win the first competition in 2024. application The grant is currently undergoing independent review. The foundation plans to use it to hold meetings of participants, creative workshops, and conference calls, but travel will likely be reduced.

According to Olga Leshchenko, curator of the Active Longevity 80+ project, grant funds can be used to travel to districts of the Penza region, not for tourism purposes, but to share their developments with other communities and to work as silver volunteers.

However, some of the project participants said they were willing to travel at their own expense. Olga Leshchenko attributes this enthusiasm to the psychologist, who regularly held sessions with them and encouraged them to "live in the here and now."

"They're much more positive about spending money on themselves. If we were celebrating holidays, we mostly got sponsors to cover that, but now they say, 'Well, let's chip in and go hang out in a cafe,'" the curator notes, though she cautions that not all participants will be able to pay for themselves due to their small pensions.

Meanwhile, the project no longer has its own psychologist (or gerontologist)—"they can't afford to pay for it." For now, they're able to invite staff from various public institutions. Olga Leshchenko believes that "nothing urgent has happened," and for now, the participants are more interested in getting together and "talking themselves rather than listening to someone else." She's not at all downhearted: "Everything is working until December, but after that, we don't know what we'll do. But in-person meetings will definitely remain."

Oleg Sharipkov of the Civil Union is less pacifistic: he is perplexed why the Russian state, which "didn't pay this category of people money from the budget," treated their beneficiaries this way.

The State Duma has repeatedly rejected bills establishing the status of "children of war" and providing support for this category of people. One such bill was introduced in 2007, but was rejected by deputies. Another similar bill was introduced in 2019, but was also rejected.

"These grandmothers aren't registered in any registries," Sharipkov reasons. "But they could have used the grant money to go to the movies or something. Of course, they didn't receive the money directly, but if you do the math, it was a nice supplement to their pensions. Well, you stopped that. You've picked these grandmothers' pockets. Who benefits from that?"