I was a passenger on a local bus driving through the middle of a blizzard when it slid off
the road into a snowy ditch. Instead of calling for help, the driver announced: “Anyone
who wants to reach their destination is welcome to get out and push the bus.” This
became one of my first impressions of Kolsky, where I photographed for the following
five years. At that time, Kolsky felt like the edge of the world. Russian travel agencies
promoted it as a winter wonderland near the Arctic Circle, attracting tourists who came
to chase the Northern Lights.
Kolsky, or the Kola Peninsula as it is formally known, borders the NATO countries,
Finland and Norway and is home to Russia’s Northern Fleet - the central hub of nuclear
submarines and related strategic infrastructure. For Russia, the region is not only
militarily significant, but also a gateway to the Arctic, where fishing, oil, gas, and mineral
extraction play a crucial role in the national economy. Since the Soviet era, nuclear
submarines have been stationed here, taking advantage of ice-free access to the
Atlantic.
At first, the daily rhythm of life seemed ordinary, almost untouched by the broader
political climate. But the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 revealed a deeper reality.
It became clear how extensively militarism and authoritarianism had infiltrated everyday
life: from patriotic slogans in classrooms to subtle forms of censorship in private
conversations. The war also exposed how completely many Russians exist within a
sealed information environment, with few alternatives to the official narrative. This
system fosters passivity and misinformation, leaving many convinced that the so-called
“special military operation” is justified and shaping a distorted understanding of the war
and its consequences.
As the propaganda machine intensified, people became afraid of anything beyond
official rules and permissions. Those who once spoke to me freely refused to be
photographed, saying only, “It’s better not to.” Others repeated television slogans.
This documentary project attempts to capture this shift in mindset within Russian
society, using the transformation of one region as a mirror. It explores how, through a
combination of strategic propaganda, social pressure, and persuasive messaging, one
of Russia’s deepest collective fears -“the main thing is to avoid war” - was reshaped into
its opposite: a new national slogan, “We can do it again.”