Time to read: 14 minutes(s)

  How long have you been here?
- About twelve years old.
— What happened to your old place?
— I don’t remember, it was small. I think they set it on fire.
(from a conversation with a resident of the temporary housing fund - a mother of two children).

They say they "live behind Lenin"—on Ryazan's main square, right behind the monument. This means it's extremely noisy and dusty on one side due to the most popular road, and on the other, there's the constant music from Pochtovaya Street—the "Ryazan Broadway." The windows are illuminated 24/7, making it difficult to sleep. This building housed the Hotel Moskva during the Soviet era; it now houses temporary housing—a temporary shelter for those who lost their only home to fire or collapse. They are expected to live here for a while until permanent housing is allocated. Over the years, people are beginning to realize that nothing is more permanent than temporary. "NeMoskva" learned about the lives, fears, and hopes of the temporary housing residents.

In Lenin's rear

The top of a head, a hand pointing the way to a bright future, and the back of a monument to Lenin—this is the view from the windows of a temporary housing dormitory. Also visible are the highway along Sobornaya Street and the enormous Chapayev residential complex, blocking half the sky. To reach the entrance, you have to turn through an arch and walk past a barrier. Car entry and parking are prohibited: this is the private parking lot of Zhivago Bank, located in another part of the building. The dormitory has no courtyard, nor a playground. The climb to the sixth floor is difficult: the flights are high, and it feels like you've climbed up to the ninth. The railings are old and sticky—nothing to lean on.

A young woman with loose dark hair comes out of the room.

- We're just living, look, — She opens the door to a two-room “suite” and says that six of us live there with two children and our parents. — Our house at 16 Sobornaya Street either burned down or was set on fire. I went to visit my grandmother and came back—the place was gone. We were moved in here. The children were born here. We rarely go outside because it's very difficult to get two children up and down. Stefan is three, and Polina is two, and she still has trouble walking. I have to carry her upstairs, and it's difficult for me with one arm.

Her name is DianaShe shows off that one left hand—slender, well-groomed, beautifully manicured. Her right hand is missing a hand—it's congenital.

Diana says it would be easier with a stroller, but it can't be brought indoors—that's due to the mayor's office's anti-terrorism regulations. Once, during yet another argument with the security guard about this, Diana heard someone say, "What if you're carrying a bomb in the stroller?" In short, when she does go for a walk with her children with the help of her relatives, she takes them for a walk—all along Pochtovaya Street, reaching the circus, stopping at every swing and bench. She's just submitted another set of documents to the mayor's office, "requesting" to move her to the third floor to make things easier.

"This isn't the first time I've asked, but they refuse. We had a woman with a child living here, and she had to leave the stroller outside by the entrance. It rained, mud accumulated, and they wouldn't let her bring it in. We even recorded videos and sent them to the mayor's office—all to no avail. Many people can't take it anymore and move out to rented accommodation, but we don't have the money for that, even though the mother works from seven in the morning until eight in the evening, six days a week.".

When the children were born, they were registered in the burned-down house. Earlier this year it was demolished, even though people tried to stop it, shouting, "This is the only proof we're not homeless!" Diana says they've been promised housing for the past 12 years. She also says all they can do is wait.

Opposite the family lives a lonely 70-year-old man AlexanderHe refused to film. He's lived here for 16 years—ever since his house in the Gorroshcha neighborhood burned down. He partly blames his prolonged stay in temporary housing on the developers, who never bothered to build anything on the site of the burned-out house. He says they could have built it, and he would have been given housing. He says there was hope before, because they wanted to build a kindergarten on that "small patch," but it never happened.

"I work as a janitor and have a few properties. I'd buy a house myself with a mortgage by now, but have you seen what mortgage rates are these days?! Anyway, if I had a family, I'd somehow fight for a place to live, but I'm alone. Now, somehow, somehow, — the tenant explains.

The neighbors complain about him: he steals whatever catches his eye from the dumpster. It's impossible to enter his room because of the piled-up junk, or to see anything—the windows are covered with dark blankets, presumably to keep the heat in. The shared bathroom is also his "loot"—potted flowers scattered all over the floor. People throw them in the trash, and he picks them up.

Another inhabitant of the floor is the commandant HopeShe grumbles at Alexander about the mess and the flowers—she says it breeds cockroaches and dampness—and she's also unhappy with his pants hanging on the shared balcony: they're unsightly and ruin the overall look. "What is this? What is this?" she repeats, but she also refuses to tell her story. Common gossip has it that she's lived here for 20 years and has no prospect of owning a place.

However, other long-time residents insist that the sixth-floor residents have no right to municipal housing at all, and live there only out of the municipality's pity.

Someone else's corner with woodlice

— Oh, what a timely moment! Look how we're dragging bags of groceries here! — meets on the fifth floor out of breath ElenaShe is one of the "youngest," "inexperienced" residents of the dormitory. Five families moved in here in mid-February, when collapsed part of their building at 16b on Griboyedov Drive. A two-year agreement was signed with the victims to live in temporary housing, but somewhere behind the scenes at City Hall, they heard: "What are they fussing about? They'll have to live there until at least 2032." People became alarmed and recorded a video message on a direct line with Putin. While they wait for an answer, they discuss their lives here and now.

— Woodlice, woodlice and cockroaches walk on the walls, my long-eared [cats] chase them away, — Elena is indignant. "Everyone's been told, and they tell us, 'We poisoned them,' but somehow we didn't see it. Look, my father is disabled. He climbed in here, sat there, and can't go outside. He's strictly forbidden from such physical activity. He can only walk down the hallway, but he can't get any fresh air. You can't really open the windows here because it's so noisy, and the lights are on full blast at night. And on this side of the street, the young people on Podbelka [the former name of Pochtovaya Street] hang out—we party with them on Fridays and Saturdays until four or five in the morning."

Residents say they're "in limbo": the administration won't tell them whether they're enrolled in any resettlement program or on any waiting list. They say, "There'll be another resettlement program, and then we'll include you."

Elena's biggest complaint was the officials' treatment of their property during the move. They advised her to leave her three cats in the dilapidated house and let them come feed them. And the furniture that didn't fit into the temporary housing units should be "listened on Avito: someone will take it for their dacha." The two cats seemed to be listening and understanding—they looked at her attentively, their ears twitching in agreement. Only the ginger cat seemed to be enjoying it: he'd taken a watchful position on the cabinet, dozing with one eye open.

Elena's parents are right there, in the room across the hall. They're starting to reminisce about how they used to live happily together in the old house—even though it was abandoned by the authorities, decrepit, and leaky, but it was theirs. There, they were their own masters, but here, Elena's brother had been fighting for a long time to be allowed into the dorm at night—that's his job.

Their neighbor Marina She invested so much money in a room in a dilapidated building that she's afraid to even count. Initially, she believed they would be given new housing because the building was in disrepair, but it was only declared such after the walls collapsed. Since 2013, they've written to every authority, but have only "achieved" one thing: all the management companies refused to take over the building due to its dilapidation. In 2018, the pipe burst The heating in the attic failed, flooding people up to the first floor. Marina's room was completely flooded. The complaints commissions and investigations concluded that the residents were to blame for not maintaining their property properly.

— When the ceiling collapsed [after a leak], I changed the linoleum, threw out the sofa and the bedding, and bought everything new on credit. Thank God, we did the renovations, and we slowly started living. Then we decided to spruce up the room again: we changed the wiring, removed the baseboards—did a complete overhaul, because, well, what else could we do? We were way behind schedule, no one was going to tear us down. We changed the linoleum again—laid down beautiful ones, and hung almost all the wallpaper. There was just one piece left. And then the wall collapsed. Once again, I was left high and dry. And now we're here... temporarily. Forever, perhaps? I want to retire in my own place. How can we live so long in other people's apartments, where we have to ask if they're allowed to hang curtains? — Marina reasons.

The residents are going over all the strange things that have happened to their old house in recent years and are perplexed. First, the house has been "artificially aged": all their lives, people knew it was built in 1949—by German prisoners of war under the supervision of Grandma Elena. At some point, the building year—1957—appeared in the documents. This is likely due to statement from the Ministry of Construction That buildings built in the 1940s and 1950s will be automatically declared unsafe and demolished, meaning people will have to be provided with new housing. Secondly, why was the roof of a building that was obviously in disrepair re-roofed in 2019? Perhaps some violation occurred then, and the walls couldn't withstand the extensive work? Thirdly, the official website of "Dom.MinZhKH" (Housing and Utilities Ministry) still lists No. 16b on Griboyedov Drive. is listed not recognized as emergency, "the condition of the house is in good working order."

The residents are planning to go to court and are already looking for a lawyer. Meanwhile, they're competing to see how many woodlice they've killed in a day. For example, in the communal kitchen, where the residents keep everything immaculately clean, Marina managed to kill 18 while preparing dinner.

To my apartment from the basement

Marina Dorogova — a legendary figure in her own right: she lived here for only three years. During this time, she wrote to authorities, attended meetings with officials, and contacted the media. Until 2018, she lived in a semi-basement apartment in a building on Koltsova Street, which is located almost directly beneath the windows of a temporary housing stock. The building is about 200 years old—built around 1825. It was declared unsafe, but the woman continued to live in an apartment with virtually no plumbing or running water, a faulty heating boiler, and a crumbling ceiling—they weren't going to provide her with an apartment. They provided her with a room in a temporary housing stock, which was then it's impossible to liveTogether with journalists, she secured renovations on the fifth floor. Rumor has it that the sixth floor was also renovated, but it wasn't very noticeable.

"I didn't get to know anyone very well because I had my own things to do, but I still saw a lot. There were migrant workers living here, and some marginalized people. There was also a family—a woman and her relatives; their house in Borki burned down. Then, right after, her husband died, and then they diagnosed her with cancer. They were constantly yelling and arguing; apparently, everyone was on edge. Then they were simply thrown out. I don't know where they went." — Dorogova recalls.

She says she had an ironclad right to receive municipal housing, as the federal program for relocating citizens from basements and semi-basements began in the late 1980s. She had also been on the housing waiting list since 1987 and argued at every level that, as the Russian Federation is the legal successor to the USSR, its obligations to citizens must be fulfilled. After rejecting several options—a veritable homeless shelter and an apartment where her late grandfather had long lain—she was finally offered suitable housing. However, it had been empty for eight years, and the administration hadn't paid its utility bills. Dorogova went back to the office again, trying to get the debts on the apartment written off, which they wanted to foist on her as an "inheritance."

Now she lives in her apartment in the city center and says that if you just sit and wait, you might not get anything until the very end of your life.

Housing Code and numbers

Lawyer Anastasia Nosova She also believes that residents will have to research and find out certain things themselves. For example, whether their building is included in the targeted housing program. She listed the reasons for which residents are eligible to move into temporary housing, and for how long.  

Citizens whose housing has become uninhabitable as a result of an apartment building being declared unsafe and subject to demolition or reconstruction have the right to be provided with residential premises from the temporary housing stock, in accordance with paragraph 3.1 of Article 95 of the Housing Code of the Russian Federation.

In this case, residential premises from the temporary housing stock are provided at a rate of no less than 6 square meters of living space per person (Part 1 of Article 106 of the RF Housing Code) and until settlements with citizens are completed or until residential premises are provided in place of those recognized as emergency, but for no more than 2 years (Clause 3.1 of Part 2 of Article 106 of the RF Housing Code).

Moreover, as a general rule, if a dilapidated building is not included in the targeted resettlement program, then the citizen is obliged to reimburse the redemption price of the residential premises, and not to provide other residential premises (Article 32 of the Housing Code of the Russian Federation, taking into account the position of the Supreme Court of the Russian Federation, set out in the “Review of judicial practice in cases related to ensuring the housing rights of citizens in the event of recognition of a residential building as dilapidated and subject to demolition or reconstruction” (approved by the Presidium of the Supreme Court of the Russian Federation on April 29, 2014).

If residential premises are lost due to an emergency (fire, flood), citizens also have the right to occupy temporary housing, provided that the damaged housing was their only available residence (Clause 3, Article 95 of the RF Housing Code). The right to reside in temporary housing on this basis is valid until settlements with citizens are completed, but is generally indefinite (Clause 3, Part 2, Article 106 of the RF Housing Code).

To request the provision of housing from the temporary housing stock, please contact the administration of the relevant municipality.

Subject to the requirements of Articles 49 and 51 of the Housing Code of the Russian Federation (the existence of grounds for the provision of housing under a social tenancy agreement), citizens may also apply to the administration of the relevant municipality with an application to be registered as in need of housing, after which they may enter into a social tenancy agreement for housing, and subsequently privatize the occupied premises.

A year ago in Ryazan and the Ryazan region was listed 444 dilapidated buildings with a total floor area of ​​116 square meters. 6500 Ryazan residents were on the waiting list. Recently, the vice-governor Artem Branov рассказал on his page that over the past 5 years, only 1930 people have been relocated from dilapidated and hazardous housing.

The targeted program for resettlement from dilapidated and hazardous housing, designed for 2019–2024, currently applies to buildings recognized as such before January 1, 2017.