"People don't want to be part of the landscape."
Residents of one of Russia's dirtiest cities are rebelling against the construction of yet another plant, which, according to plans, is expected to enrich Iskitim and create jobs.
The area around Iskitim resembles a bowl—the town is located in a lowland. Currently, this bowl is filled with cement dust, soot, benzopyrene, and other pollutants—the town is home to more than 20 industries, including hazardous ones. Some of these factories emerged thanks to a discovery a century ago: limestone and shale discovered in the surrounding area. This discovery breathed life into Iskitim, transforming it into an industrial city of 54,000 people. Now, however, it's ruining that life—residents suffer from snow-white dust and emissions, complaining of health problems. Recently, Iskitim residents learned that another plant, this one a metal rolling mill, may be built within the town limits. Representatives promised local authorities minimal air emissions, millions in budget contributions, and 300 jobs. But residents are refusing to accept the additional industrial burden, and the town already has enough work for everyone. NeMoskva visited Iskitim, whose residents held an environmental protest and are now trying to push for a referendum.
"There are pits below, smoke above – this is the city of Iskitim."
You can tell you're approaching Iskitim by the smokestacks of factories and boiler houses rising into the sky, as well as the light dusty haze hanging over the town. This haze is Iskitim's constant companion on clear days. Locals have become accustomed to it and no longer notice how many shades of gray and white the surrounding landscape is. Black dust settles in the coal-mining areas, but Iskitim's calling card is the limestone and shale from which cement is made, so white dust is everywhere. It covers vegetation, roads, sidewalks, fences, buildings, and seems to have ingrained the facades of the houses, which are also mostly a dirty white.
Greenery accentuates this palette. Even in the courtyards of panel buildings, local residents plant flowerbeds. On a weekend, when the thermometer approaches 30°C (96°F), the courtyards are almost empty. Red mallows rise next to the expectedly empty benches, and cats, tired from the heat, hide under the cars parked near the entrances.
“Well, where should I [go]? Oh, come on. Only Iskitim,” Vladimir Ivanovich from the Central District, waving his hand, one of the few who dared to venture outside in such heat. “My wife and I lived here, the children have grown up… It’s probably for the young to leave, but what about us? It’s good here, we have everything, it’s just the environment… Now we’re not going to…” (negative consequences of the work of enterprises - Ed.) We don't feel it much, but when a new plant appears, we'll feel it.
Vladimir Ivanovich worked for over 20 years as a driver at Iskitimizvesti, a plant in the southeast of the city. He admits to having "inhaled all sorts of things." The retiree's daughter and son-in-law, like many in the city, also work at a different plant, Iskitimcement, a city-forming enterprise whose smokestacks are practically a symbol of the city, visible from every neighborhood.
Our interviewee heard from his children that another production facility might be opening in Iskitim. The Southern Metal Rolling Plant (YMPZ) is slated to occupy the space of a slate plant that was liquidated in 2013. It has already purchased the land. It's located in the Severny microdistrict, next to the aforementioned Iskitimcement plant. The rolling plant could become the fifth enterprise. first maximum category of negative impact on the environment in Iskitim.
On the banks of the Berda River, which cuts through the city, life seems serene, as it usually is in the middle of a hot July. Children splash in the water, and a little further away, fishermen sit in the reeds.
"What factory [will be built]?" Oksana, who had come to the riverbank for a tan, asks eagerly. "This is the first time I've heard you say that! There are factories in Iskitim, but what's the point? Why is everything so expensive here if we have our own production?"
Oksana laughs bitterly at her own question. The problem of opening a new production facility seems to have passed her by, but she can tell a lot about the consequences of operating existing businesses. For example, how a whitish cement dust settles in her garden and is impossible to wash off. It hardens the soil, requiring constant additions of compost to ensure anything grows.
"I don't even plant zucchini or pumpkins anymore. If I grow tomatoes, I put them in a greenhouse, otherwise I'll be exhausted cleaning them off. Trucks carrying gravel drive by—our house shakes. Or when they blast [rock]. You can hear all that too." (within the Iskitim area there are six quarries, mainly with limestone and shale – editor’s note), says Oksana.
All this is part of everyday life for an Iskitim resident, says Alexander, a freelance media writer. He was born in Iskitim and lived here for 20 years. Only after leaving did he realize the conditions he had lived in. His parents still live in the city, near the Iskitimizvest plant, and have no plans to leave. Alexander calls it "growing into the earth." He himself doesn't regret leaving his homeland after graduating.
"I don't think we really thought about the environment [while living in Iskitim], but we always heard this urban folklore: 'Pits below, smoke above—that's Iskitim.' It was understandable, but even at school it was taught: no matter how bad things are here, if it weren't for the plant, the town wouldn't exist at all," he reasons. "As for the dirt and dust: it's always been like that in Iskitim; you just get used to it. Especially if you live in a confined space, you think it's like that everywhere. Yes, it's dirty. Yes, quarry explosions shake the school. And then there's the dust. If you visit my parents in the neighborhood, you can tell which way the wind has been blowing recently by the pattern on the trees."
He recalls that the most "harsh events" related to the work of the enterprises that he remembers occurred in 2008 and 2014 at the Novosibirsk Artificial Fiber Plant, a defense plant. They produced, and continue to produce, explosives and some plastic products for civilian use. Explosions occurred at the plant: in 2008, a young man was killed while assembling a detonator, and six years later, three young men died. All of them were working late, rushing to fulfill yet another order from the Ministry of Defense. The media reported on the latest tragedy. dubbed "Iskitim Hiroshima".
"These were real explosions, not just any 'bangs.' People died, suffered, buildings were blown to pieces, houses shook," Alexander recalls. "In a small town, any man-made event like that means the family of a classmate, an acquaintance, your mother's friends—someone else—is sure to be affected and will be discussed for a long time. That's probably why it's still fresh in my memory."
"When we started to understand the problem, we grabbed our heads."
In 2021, the federal Ministry of Natural Resources included Iskitim in The 35 dirtiest cities in RussiaThe city's inclusion in the rating was due to air pollution levels that remained high for at least three of the last five years.
In the report on the state of the environment in Iskitim for 2021 (on the administration’s website for later reports) not published) lists all the city's enterprises and their sources of pollution. For example, the Iskitimcement plant alone has 158 emission sources, NZIV has 105, and Iskitimizvesti has 102. The total amount of pollutant emissions from Iskitim enterprises in 2021 was 13,8 tons. Iskitimcement is the largest contributor, with 6,4 tons, followed by the landfill, with 3,6 tons.
Taking all this into account, the Russian Ministry of Natural Resources included Iskitim in an experiment to reduce emissions. Clean Air Iskitimcement and Iskitimizvest are included in this program. This, according to city resident Artem Frolov, somewhat lulled residents' vigilance. It seemed the environmental situation would improve.
Then news broke of the construction of another plant, which will process ferrous metals and produce rebar. The plant's capacity is 150 tons of products per year.
It was Artem Frolov who first raised the alarm and led a group of Iskitim residents opposing the plant. He combines this public service with his work as an assistant to a member of parliament on the local Council of Deputies.
We meet Artem near the city administration building; he lives a little further away, near one of the city parks. It's two neighborhoods away from the site of the planned YMPZ.
The air is thick with the same white smog, which, however, you quickly get used to. Nearby, trucks rush along the central Komsomolskaya Street, leaving milky clouds of cement dust in their wake. Massive trucks carrying gravel and scrap metal from the local scrap yards, driving through town, are another of Iskitim's thorns. In theory, they should be banned from entering—the only bridge connecting the two banks has a sign: "25 tons maximum." And there is a detour. But it's inconvenient for trucks, and the traffic police in town don't seem to be particularly active—we didn't encounter a single patrol all day.
Artem promises to show us the city's "most seedy" spots. First stop: Iskitimcement, where a new plant is slated to be built next door.
We pull up to a beautiful but neglected building in the Stalinist Empire style. It's located in the city's Northern District, which is mostly made up of private homes and dreary two-story buildings with peeling facades. It seems no one is planning to save this beautiful Stalin-era building—the former "Cementnik" Community Center of the Chernorechensky Cement Plant (formerly known as "Iskitimcement"). Meanwhile, children walk past the "Iskitimcement" sign every day to the community center, which is practically on the plant's grounds. It houses the city's Supplementary Education Center, with dozens of children's clubs.
"And all this is within the Iskitimcement sanitary protection zone. And next door, there's going to be another YMPZ. What a mockery," Artem sighs.
Six months ago, Artem himself and 130 other Iskitim residents came to the cultural center. They all participated in public hearings, where representatives of the YMPZ spoke about the project and answered questions from those present.
Residents were primarily concerned about the discharge of wastewater into the Berd River and environmental monitoring. Plant representatives assured residents that there would be no discharge into the river; the wastewater would be pumped out and removed by specialized transport. declared, which provides for “monitoring of atmospheric air, noise impact, and monitoring in the area of waste management.”
Open pop-up window—When I found out [about the planned construction of the plant], I wasn't particularly scared at first. We're not against industry in general. We're only in favor of more enterprises. But let's stick to common sense. They want to shove [another] plant within the city limits. Why?—Artem asks rhetorically.—After the public hearings, we, of course, looked for information, collected it, and came to the conclusion that this is a very scary enterprise. The plant will melt used metal. Like a regular foundry. Can you imagine?
will rise into the airWe were in shock. The plant itself will be located on the banks of the Berd River. We're told it will be a closed-loop production cycle, nothing will be sourced from the Berd... Well, we're realists, we understand that on paper it won't be, but in reality, it's a cinch. Moreover, they raked all the asbestos left over from the slate plant onto the river. I saw it myself when I was boating down the river—there were such... the waste heaps are huge!
The activist is also concerned that, following active protests from city residents, the plant "abruptly decided to reduce emissions"—from 827 tons per year to 135 tons. "This immediately raises questions: at what expense? And won't this just be a part of their documentation?"
In the spring, the initiative group intensified its activity when it realized that the Iskitim administration intended to support the plant project.
"Permitting this plant is a matter of local importance. And by law, it can only be obtained by decision of the local government and/or the city's residents. Therefore, everyone's opinion is important. We will not allow our city to become an exclusion zone," wrote Artem is in the Iskitim VKontakte group he manages. The activist called for signatures on a petition against the plant. They were collected by hand. paper.
When six thousand signatures were collected, scanned copies of the petitions were submitted to the presidential administration, the governor of the Novosibirsk region, the regional Ministry of Natural Resources, and the Iskitim City Council.
The answer, according to Artem, was always something like this: “We’ll take it into account.”
"What's there to accept? How can you even consider this? These formulations are sometimes simply devastating," Artem complains as we drive to our next destination. "The issue can be resolved either by the City Council or by the city residents. And if the city residents are against it, then what? Ugh, no way!"
"For - either bots or representatives of the administration"
The activism of Artem and other activists did not go unnoticed by local authorities. Iskitim Mayor Sergei Zavrazhin was particularly outraged by leaflets that began distributing around the city in the lead-up to a protest against the plant. They called the YMPZ a "killer plant" and Iskitim an "exclusion zone."
In the video that опубликовала In the local municipal newspaper in early May, Zavrazhkin stated: "This sounds, of course, scary and horrific, but that's for the uninitiated. Iskitimcement emits probably no more than three thousand tons of pollutants into the environment." (There is no information on emissions for 2023, but this is quite likely if the company has been gradually reducing their volumes – editor's note.)"As we can see, the situation is changing. Just the other day, we opened the bag filter on furnace number seven. This measure, which cost the plant 350 million rubles, reduced pollutant emissions into the environment of Iskitim by 900 tons!"
The mayor then went on to compare the harm from the future plant with that from enterprises already located within the city limits: "According to the project, YMPZ will emit 135 tons per year. This means our plant [Iskitimcement] is 22 times more dangerous than the proposed construction. But we've been living with this plant for 85 years, and no one is saying it's comparable to dumping radioactive waste on city soil. This is complete nonsense and complete misinformation; I can't describe these statements any other way. Iskitimizvest emits approximately 1000 tons annually. This is also seven times more dangerous than the proposed construction. The first category [of negative impact] is our solid waste landfill, the dump. Decomposition products, methane, and so on and so forth. They emit approximately 3700 tons per year. "That is, 135 and 3700. The landfill, roughly speaking, is 25-30 times scarier. We've been living with all these objects for years, and nothing terrible has happened!"
The plant's benefits, as Sergey Zavrazhin explained, are obvious: the city budget will receive approximately 20 million rubles in taxes alone. Furthermore, the company has promised to attract over five billion rubles in investment to the Novosibirsk Region. Iskitim itself will receive 300 jobs with an average salary of 80 rubles.
But Artem says Iskitim doesn't need new housing—the city has virtually zero unemployment and significant population decline. Over the past three years, the population has decreased by almost two thousand people, from 56,411 to 54,492 (in 2023).
To support his claims, he shows a letter from Sergey Semka, Deputy Governor of the Novosibirsk Region, which he received in response to the six thousand signatures he sent against YMPZ. It states that the number of vacancies in Iskitim exceeds the number of unemployed by 14 times.
"Who will these places be for then? And do the people of Iskitim really need them to be poisoned by the new plant?" Artyom asks.
The mayor also addressed Artem and other activists. In a video, he referred to all activists speaking out against the plant as "content makers" trying to gain "cheap credibility" by criticizing the government.
Artem only chuckles in response: neither Zavrazhin's speech nor the delays in approving the rally prevented him from holding the protest at the end of May. That day, as the activist recalls, the city was flooded with police crews from Novosibirsk, some of whom even turned people away, heading to the rally. Iskitim residents themselves reported this—according to them, the police told people that the event would not take place and that they should return home. Some did leave.
Despite this, more than a dozen local residents spoke at the rally, and around 300 people attended. Approaching the microphone, they expressed their desire to make Iskitim cleaner and expressed doubt that the plant's promises would be fulfilled.
"You see, I don't know a single person who's in favor of building a new plant. If you live in Iskitim, you'll definitely be against it. And those who are speaking out in favor on social media are bots. I even checked with a special program—the likes are fake, the accounts are up-to-date. Their goal is to discourage people from participating in protests. That's why they write things like, 'Why do you need all this?' or, 'You have nothing better to do than go to rallies.' So, either bots like these, or administration officials and members of parliament, are in favor of the construction," Artem believes.
Viktor Baulin, head of the city administration's environmental and land control department, was also initially wary of the project, when the projected emissions were around 830 tons. However, after public hearings and adjustments to the projected emissions, he supported the plant's construction. Baulin believes the key factors are jobs and the promised profits for Iskitim.
— I read all the materials [the design documentation for the YMPZ], "Their 135 tons of emissions per year are calculated based on dispersion at the land plot boundary, at the 500-meter boundary of the sanitary protection zone, and at the boundary of the residential sector... That is, the maximum permissible concentration of pollutants will not be exceeded. Therefore, we have no threat to public health. They own the site [YUMPZ], and they have the right to build," he commented.
Artem also studied the design documentation—a 600-page document. He requested it from the administration, and it turned out— laid out It's publicly available, but it's not easy to find unless you know where to look. The document states that the distance from the plant site to the private sector will be minimal in the southeast (200 meters), and 70 meters to Berdi.
Independent ecologist Sergei Pashchenko also reviewed the document and found several important details missing. For example, a radiation station, which is mandatory if the company handles ferrous scrap metal. Questions were also raised about the size of the sanitary zone, which obviously includes residential buildings and a community center with children's activities, the proximity to the Berd River, which could receive runoff from the company during snowmelt, and two underground reservoirs designed to hold surface water.
"Do they understand that the water at the construction site and the proximity of the river create a high risk of polluted water discharge into the Berd? This is taking into account the heavy snow cover, thaws, and heavy rains. To treat the meltwater, their report states that they will use a Veksa-6 unit with a capacity of six liters per second. But that's simply ridiculous for such a site!" he reasons. "The report is enormous, with a bunch of numbers and words hiding things they themselves don't know."
According to him, comparing the volume of harmful emissions at different enterprises, as Sergei Zavrazhin did, is inappropriate, since the metal rolling mill will emit other pollutants—primarily nitrogen dioxide (a choking gas formed during combustion).
According to the ecologist, dust that forms during metal rolling also poses a danger to humans.
"The dust that Iskitimcement emits is visible to the naked eye. It's tens of microns. Ten microns will never get into your lungs because there's a small cilia on your larynx that traps that kind of dust. You clear your throat, and it pops out. For humans, the maximum permissible concentration (MPC) increases sharply when dust becomes about a micron, and that's what forms in processes like metal rolling," the ecologist explains. "Questions arise about filters. As soon as a filter accumulates a certain number of particles, microholes break because the pressure needs to go somewhere. Then it's not really a filter anymore. The smart thing is to constantly monitor the pressure in the filter and at the outlet, and buy expensive filters. That costs hundreds of thousands of rubles, and everyone still wants to save money. Filters are the first and main mistake of all such plants. Our tin smelter in Novosibirsk used to make mistakes on this issue, specifically on small metal particles, smaller than a micron. That plant no longer exists." (it was closed, including due to environmental pollution and the location of the enterprise within the city limits - editor's note).
Sergey Pashchenko decided that they wanted to locate the new plant in Iskitim, specifically within the city limits, where another plant once stood, because those lands had already been destroyed by another enterprise. An environmental audit would make it difficult to determine the specific damage caused by the YMPZ. If the plant were moved to empty fields, "all the damage would be exposed."
"Come back when we win."
On the eastern outskirts of Iskitim, a huge mound of garbage rises. This is another "hot spot" and another enterprise posing a danger to Iskitim residents.
"We have no windbreak at all. It's a violation of sanitary regulations. There's a cattle burial ground right here, which is also prohibited. There's a landfill on one side, a cemetery on the other. There's not even a fence! It's a paradise for the prosecutor's office, for the Investigative Committee! If only someone needed that..." Artem describes the place.
It's impossible to stay near the landfill for long—the concentrated smell of waste heating up in the 30-degree heat overwhelms you.
Beyond the landfill, plumes of white smoke can be seen—another cement plant. Formally, the plant is not located within the city limits, but within the district. However, the smoke curls toward the private sector, enveloping it like fog and leaving its signature white haze.
Another cement plant was built about ten years ago by Berdsk entrepreneur Viktor Golubev, who is sarcastically referred to in Iskitim as an "honorary citizen" (he actually holds that title). In early 2015, accused In connection with the organization of an underground oil refinery, the refinery itself was confiscated, and the entrepreneur was sentenced to eighteen months in a penal colony. A couple of months later amnestied in honor of the 70th anniversary of the victory in the Great Patriotic War.
Artem cites the Golubev plant as an example of unfulfilled promises:
"He had to go through some kind of expert review to be built here. That is, the plant is officially built and operational. And if the review had shown the actual figures, they wouldn't have allowed it to be built. Just look at how dusty it is! That's just impossible."
The outlines of cars are barely visible from the milky cloud that envelops the plant and its entrance arch. Artem doesn't know how much emissions Golubev's plant emits, and the administration's report doesn't include any figures either—it only provides data from city enterprises. But to give journalists an idea of what it's like to live next door to yet another cement plant, he recommends heading to the nearby private sector.
It's not hard to find the houses most damaged by the plant—dust seems to be everywhere. Dump trucks speed along the road between the private houses on Nekrasov Street. Some of the trucks are littered with crushed rock from the nearby Chernorechensky quarry, others with chunks of limestone.
"See this?" Lyudmila Slaveninova, the chair of the local TOS, points to the layer of dirty dust covering the lawn. "As soon as it rains, everything becomes slippery, scary to walk. You could get hit by the wheels. But they [the trucks] don't care!"
This winter, a truck previously seen transporting crushed stone failed to slow down on a turn and rammed a house on Gogol Street. Artem also posted a video of the accident, in which miraculously no one was injured. laid out I posted about it in my group, but the publicity didn't really improve the situation; cars continue to drive recklessly in the small private sector. The damaged, but now restored, house looks deserted, with cobwebs clinging to the mailbox and doorknob. Lyudmila says that after the incident, people rushed to leave.
"My street is mostly populated by grandparents. They're about 70 years old, but even they have serious intentions. They want to go out and block this street, to keep out uncovered trucks," says Lyudmila, standing on the dusty street, shouting over the roar of the traffic. "And so many people are leaving here. This house, for example, has had its third owner in two years. The housing is cheap, but who's going to buy it?"
Lyudmila herself, on the other hand, came to Iskitim. More precisely, she returned (as she puts it, "for personal reasons") in 2020 after living in Novosibirsk. She has no plans to leave, so she participated in the rally.
"If there's another YMPZ, it'll be the end of everything. I have five people with cancer on my street, can you imagine? What do we need another plant for? Oh well, we'll keep trying. We just want to be heard. We're not going to take anyone to task. Our city is a good one, it just needs a new owner... Everything can be fixed. So come visit us when we win. It'll be a thriving city!" Lyudmila declares optimistically.
We say goodbye, she slams the gate in the unpainted fence, and a cloud of dust rises into the air.
Artem shares Lyudmila's sentiments. He admits he's already received threats for his activities, but they've always been innuendos, without specifics. He doesn't take them seriously and doesn't believe any action will follow.
"Well, you know, someone might say that if you don't like something, then leave Iskitim. But I don't want to run. I live here, this is my home. It's better for those who violate the rules to leave," says Artem.
The YMPZ construction project is currently undergoing two expert reviews, including an environmental one. Barring any serious concerns, implementation will begin. It has already received approval from the Federal Agency for Fisheries, which raised no concerns regarding the risk of wastewater entering the Berd River. The construction deadline specified in the design documentation is 2025.
Artem and other active Iskitim residents will seek a referendum.
"There are three ways to ban the construction of the plant in Iskitim. [Such a decision can be made] by the mayor. If [he permits construction and] the Council of Deputies [disagrees] with it, then he can overrule [the mayor's] decision. This is unlikely to happen here; 22 of the 25-member Council are United Russia members, and they support the plant. Another ban option is to hold a referendum. But then again, who decides on holding a referendum? The Council of these same deputies, based on the signatures of the initiative group. We understand perfectly well that United Russia will not vote for holding a referendum. They are in cahoots with the administration. Therefore, we will most likely face another court case. We will file a complaint against the Council of Deputies, which will certainly reject our application for a referendum. It will be very scandalous," Artem predicts.
Independent ecologist Sergei Pashchenko believes that Iskitim residents should record a letter to the Chairman of the Russian Investigative Committee, Alexander Bastrykin, and try to reach out to the president. He believes the president likely doesn't know about the plant being built in Iskitim and the consequences it poses for residents.
Alexander, who left Iskitim, regretted for the first time that he wasn't in the city experiencing such a surge in activity. He says he would have gladly attended a rally or participated in the referendum.
"I'm sure those protesting against the plant have no political ambitions. People just want to live and breathe normal air. I saw [in the Iskitim residents' activism] a legitimate grievance: some people see our building as a gold mine, where they can build cheaply, ignore any regulations, and live happily ever after! Even from the mayor's response, it's clear he doesn't see the protesters as people at all. And they don't want to be part of the landscape. They want to make decisions."
