Specific person
The story of a Voronezh resident who builds buildings from construction waste—and wants the entire country to do the same.
For over 40 years, Sergei Zolotukhin has been building houses in a unique way: using building materials that were once part of other buildings. Concrete slabs, brick, metal, and other structures are given a second life under his leadership. NeMoskva met with a "special person"—as Zolotukhin calls himself. He's a communist and loves Putin, considering him a communist too—after all, he "never turned in his party card." He defends Tajiks, whose persecution began after the terrorist attack in Crocus City, and believes in Ukrainian Nazis. He cares deeply about his work and, it seems, is constantly trying to complete what he left unfinished—a "just society." In his own, "special" way.
An old seven-seater minivan is parked with its hazard lights off at a bus stop near the Voronezh Circus. Its owner, Sergei Zolotukhin, is a gray-haired man with striking black eyebrows. He invites you into the car and takes you to see the houses he's built.
"Hello, please sign me up," he begins knowingly, turning down a side street. "Sergey Nikolaevich Zolotukhin, PhD in engineering, associate professor at the Borisov Department of Building Structures, Foundations, and Foundations [at VSTU]. I've been implementing closed-loop construction technologies for over forty years. Hundreds of projects have been built."
"It's boring to build simple houses."
This isn't Zolotukhin's first interview. Journalists are interested in him as one of the few people in Russia who builds houses from the remains of other buildings. He begins to talk about this, using technical language and a professorial tone.
"Both the Constitution of the Russian Federation and Federal Law No. 89 ["On Production and Consumption Waste"], and a number of other laws that Putin constantly signs, require that we have no waste. To achieve this, we need to train specialists," Zolotukhin, as if on script, gestures toward a pile of garbage bags and, abruptly interrupting his "lecture," clarifies: "Do you need nice photos?"
He then spends a long time explaining the problem he's tackling. Briefly, it can be summed up as follows: in Russia, hundreds of thousands of tons of construction waste sit in landfills, rotting and causing harm. To reduce the amount of waste, Zolotukhin proposes reusing construction materials after demolition.
"[Builders] dig up clay, a valuable building material. They [the soil removal companies] write that it's all trash, take it to our landfill. And the scheme is for the stupid: they brought it to the landfill for money, and then sold it from there for money. And now they want to do this all over the country, and I think: are you crazy? There's no black soil in Moscow [but there is in Voronezh]. There are people whose hearts bleed for this.
— So, does this irrationalism irritate you?
- Yeah, it's just... Not for me.
Another aspect of the problem is environmental friendliness. Used reinforced concrete in Voronezh costs six times less than new. Meanwhile, in Moscow, says Zolotukhin, such structures are considered waste after demolition, crushed into pieces, and discarded. Citing research by his students, Sergey cites figures: the production of one cubic meter of reinforced concrete structures releases more than two tons of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere.
"All the trash is sitting in the landfill. As long as it's dry, it's not very dangerous. But as soon as it starts to be washed away by clean precipitation, it becomes trash that will poison you," Zolotukhin continues. "Wastewater and leachate have already poisoned our water bodies. I don't know a single person who was in the Black Sea last year and didn't get sick. I think even Putin got sick. We didn't have this problem before the 1990s."
The first stop on our "tour" is a fenced-in plot at the foot of the hill. A house will soon be built here, under Zolotukhin's supervision. Zolotukhin emphasizes that it's incorrect to call him a "builder" right now—after all, he hasn't been directly involved in construction for many years, merely assisting as an engineer and overseeing the project.
Several workers at a construction site are stabilizing a slope with reinforced concrete slabs—they were previously part of another building. Zolotukhin walks quickly across the planks embedded in the clay, constantly explaining about monolithic and precast-monolithic reinforced concrete structures, which are used here to create flexible elements, utilizing the height of the cross-section and, as a result, using only the outer fibers.
Behind these formulations, which are incomprehensible to the average person, lies a technology for preventing landslides that could destroy a house built at the foot of the mountain. It was invented and patented Zolotukhin. He holds seven or eight patents for the use of recycled materials in construction; he doesn't remember the exact number.
Sergey drives us through the narrow alleys and dirt roads of a private sector located on a hillside near the shore of the Voronezh Reservoir. Every now and then, taking a break from driving, he points around: he helped build this house, he reinforced another one, he made sure it wouldn't be washed away by floodwaters, and he'll probably be invited back here in the future when another mudflow threatens someone's home.
"I find building simple houses boring. I don't take on simple projects, even if they pay big money. I'm interested in landslide-prone slopes and stabilizing subsidence-prone soils," explains Sergey.
We stop at another structure. A large, futuristic black building with a swimming pool. It's clear the owner is well-off. Nearby is another construction site, where workers have prepared a slope using Zolotukhin's technology.
— Listen, builders are rich people. Are you a rich man?
"No, I don't. The thing is," Sergey constantly uses the word "specific" when he doesn't want to judge events or people, "the thing is that the people who order from me are greedy."
The company OOO Recycling Construction, half of which is owned by Zolotukhin, according to data from the 2022 card index Rusprofile, is unprofitable.
"I was taught this culture. They don't teach it now."
Sergei had wanted to be a builder since childhood—he dreamed of building hydroelectric power plants. While his peers were thinking about space travel, he was gluing together a model of the Izmail Fortress out of matches and clay.
"Back then, everyone wanted to be cosmonauts, after Gagarin's flight. And I asked my father, 'What's there in space?' He said, 'There's nothing.' I asked again, 'What can you do there?' My father said, 'Nothing for now.' And I thought, 'Why does everyone want to go there if there's nothing to do there?'
The hydroelectric power plant project didn't work out. At 14, Zolotukhin enrolled in an assembly technical school, then university, and has been building houses ever since. He didn't invent the idea of building from recycled materials on his own—that's how he was taught at university. He says everyone in Voronezh built like that when the city was being rebuilt after the war.
In the 1990s, Zolotukhin went to the United States to study—he relaxed, gained experience, and became completely hooked on green construction. He didn't like America, however: he claims they "tried to recruit" him there.
"I remember that interrogation well. They asked me: What's your opinion of NATO? I said I don't. Why? What's in store for you? It all revolved around NATO. The Americans really enjoyed robbing us, and Putin managed to stop that robbing," Zolotukhin is convinced.
Meanwhile, we are driving from the private sector into the historical quarter.
"All of this," Zolotukhin points to the buildings along the avenue, "was bombed by the Germans. There was fighting in Volgograd, we know that, but less is said about the fighting in Voronezh. Reusing products and structures was the culture of Voronezh. I was taught this culture. They don't teach that anymore."
Zolotukhin has a special relationship with the 1941-1945 war—his grandfather fought on the Leningrad Front. According to his stories, a friend offered to "sit him out," but his grandfather refused and went to serve. Those who didn't were "shot and not even buried in a cemetery." His grandfather spent the entire war at the front, was wounded several times, the last time in April 1945, already in Germany. He received a medal for bravery and was a recipient of the Order of the Patriotic War, first, second, and third classes. He spoke "very, very little" about the war.
"They were going for food in a group of several. A Finnish sniper would start shooting at them, killing them all and leaving one. 'We hunted him,' he says, 'but we couldn't kill him.' Only 11 or 12 men remained from the company—and then the old man would burst into tears. Imagine the horror: you go for food, and only one comes back.'
Zolotukhin says that, judging by his grandfather's award certificate, he killed often. Sergei shares a "sick suspicion" that he also killed "children" [untrained soldiers] and "saw who he was killing."
After the war, my grandfather worked as an education official. He had problems with the NKVD—they wanted to accuse him of document forgery. However, the matter never went beyond a conversation in the commissar's office. Several decades later, his grandson also faced criminal prosecution—charged with the illegal sale of sand.
"We're going to the building now. When it looked beautiful, a man came up to me and said, 'Give me half.' I laughed, I remember, and he said they'd open a criminal case against me. I refused to give it back—and they did open a case for selling sand that they didn't have," Zolotukhin says, his thoughts becoming confused. "I'm just a peculiar person... They didn't let me build what I wanted... You see, the transition from Soviet to non-Soviet power was very peculiar..."
Zolotukhin no longer remembers the statute under which the case was opened, and he couldn't find it in the district court's records either. But as Sergey puts it, "they opened it and they closed it": there were no consequences.
Cement, paint and brains
The building in question is a sports complex in Babyakovo, which Zolotukhin began building in the 2000s on his father's land. Zolotukhin grew up in this village, where he erected his major works from reclaimed materials. He was unable to complete the sports complex, and was forced to sell part of the land due to high taxes and debts from the loans he took out for the construction.
We drive past an excavation pit where a lake and water slides were supposed to be. Huge mounds of earth excavated during construction are overgrown with grass. We turn off the road toward a colorful, sloping, hemispherical building. This, in fact, is the unfinished sports complex, now a holiday home that Zolotukhin rents out for birthday parties, weddings, and other events.
Zolotukhin was assisted in the construction of this house by "construction brigades"—as he calls them, in fact, his daughter's classmates, whom Sergei "invited to volunteer." He was "pressured at the university" for involving students in private construction, but even here there were no consequences—they backed off. Zolotukhin believes this was after Putin said he was also a member of a construction brigade.
Sergei himself was the commander of the construction team in the 80s, at the beginning of his career, during his training practice.
"In five years of study, I had two and a half years of work experience. That's why I was awarded the Order of Honor in 1986. For working so hard. I was a bit of a weirdo. I always wanted to build communism."
— How did you build it?
"I built houses for people. We believed in communism, we believed we were building this society. Many people still believe in communism."
— But in the elections [the candidate from the Communist Party of the Russian Federation] Kharitonov received four percent.
"So what?" Zolotukhin starts laughing. "Four percent believe in communism. And Putin said honestly: I realize that part of the Communist Party electorate voted for me because there's a war going on."
- But Putin is not a communist.
"That's what you think. He's building Russia the way he sees fit. He's a communist reformer. The man openly admitted he didn't surrender his party card."
When asked about the reasons for Putin's special treatment, Zolotukhin recalls the 1990s: "You didn't live then, but I did," he says. "Bandits came to my house every day, set me on fire, stole my cars," and Putin "led us out of that blizzard." Zolotukhin also attributes current environmental problems to those "wild times," sadly recalling drinking water from a stream in Nizhny Mamon and repeating over and over again: "This didn't happen before the 1990s."
We're walking through the unfinished sports complex. Painted walls, mosaics, different styles in each room, a twenty-meter swimming pool, a gym with a fireplace... It's hard to believe such a thing could be built from the rubble left behind by the demolition of other buildings, but Sergey assures us: even the tiles are second-hand. When asked repeatedly where the building materials come from, he answers evasively, saying that in Voronezh, "there's a full cycle." Apparently, when houses are torn down somewhere, they call him to buy the remaining building materials.
— Is there anything new here?
"Cement, paint, and brains," Zolotukhin smiles and commands, "Take a picture! You'll show it to everyone and say you've been to Austria."
"So what? There's a civil war going on."
We drive across the bridge over the ice-covered Voronezh Reservoir to the village of Babyakovo. This is where Zolotukhin grew up, and here he built his main creations from recycled materials.
He says it's important to him that houses last a long time—he doesn't want to build "disposable" ones that harm the environment, and that's precisely what patriotism is.
"Everyone should do their job well in their place. They say: let's kick out all the Tajiks. And I say: are you crazy? This is the same Nazism. If the Tajiks hadn't accepted my mother, I wouldn't be here. My mother is a Ukrainian, that is, from Ukraine—and she simply wouldn't exist. And she is a most talented person..."
The Zolotukhin family history is as follows. His mother, Valentina, is from Ukraine. Her family had many children—"twelve Vals," as Sergey puts it—so his mother was given to another family. As a child, she moved to Tajikistan, where she became an artist. Sergey's father, Nikolai, was from the village of Verkhniy Mamon near Voronezh. He was a teacher and was assigned to Tajikistan, where Valentina lived. Zolotukhin was born and spent his childhood there, in a village on the border between Tajikistan and Afghanistan.
Zolotukhin's relatives currently remain in Ukraine. When asked whether this influences his views, Sergei uses Channel One's language.
"Well, my relatives live in Kharkiv, obviously—under the Nazis. And some live in Alchevsk [located in the so-called LPR]—they moved to us. I don't know anything about the Kharkiv people. More precisely, I know their attitude: he had family there, and he's a Banderite." (a native of Western Ukraine – editor’s note), and she's ours, Zolotukhina. They divorced back in the 90s.
— Aren’t you worried about your relatives in Kharkov?
"Of course I'm worried. But we have no contact; it was cut off back in 2014. There were some ridiculous situations back then: they asked if we were dying of hunger. So what, there's a civil war going on because the Americans wanted it that way."
— And what is the goal of the "special operation"? How do you understand it?
— As I understand the goal of the special operation... As I understand the goal of the special operation... Well, once again: there are a lot of people who don't like the fact that Russians were oppressed. The Anglo-Saxons destroyed us during the October Revolution—and they want to continue robbing us.
In Zolotukhin's worldview, World War II never ended, and "while the Germans were re-educated, neither the Romanians, nor the Slovaks, nor the Czechs were." Of course, he supports the "SVO" and says he would have gone to war if he had been younger.
We're heading to the final stop on the tour—another of Zolotukhin's castles. "Castle" is no exaggeration. The enormous stone structure with towers, an arch, and rounded windows is missing only a moat and archers on the walls to complete the picture. The courtyard features gazebos, fountains, and pine trees grown from seedlings bought at Pyaterochka. Inside, there's a large banquet hall, a long corridor, a spiral staircase with rooms on each floor, and round tables in the towers. Zolotukhin built the building to live in, but now it's also a holiday home. One of the rooms houses a stone massage table that Sergei built for his ailing mother. The walls are decorated with her artwork.
"These are my mother's paintings," Sergei says tenderly. "I can build anything, and she can bring comfort to everything."
She speaks of her mother in the present tense, although she died during the coronavirus pandemic. Her father, who had also been ill, had died before. Sergei is married and has a daughter. He works in design and wanted to move to Germany with her husband. According to Zolotukhin, she "changed her mind."
He sighs as he talks about his plans—he wants to "finish the unfinished sports center on this land," build another facility, and continue his engineering supervision work. He says people who talk to him jokingly call him a vampire: they say he "bite" them, and now they, too, are obsessed with recycling and green building.
The waste management reform launched in 2019 assumedBy 2030, Russia would become much more environmentally friendly—mandatory waste separation and recycling would be introduced. Sergey believes the reform has failed. He doesn't know why.
"I have a feeling that the people working on waste reform don't obey Putin. I see he's trying to put pressure on them, but he's too kind a man for my taste," Zolotukhin tries to reason. He's generally reluctant to talk about the failed reform. He says it's not his job to butt heads with those who are sabotaging it: "Look, I make technology. I'm a scientist. That's what I do."