Exploring the Depths of Human Nature and Political Realities in Modern Russia

Sergey charged onto the central plaza as if starring in some fresh reality show called Who Can Shout “Discounts!” the Loudest? Clutching a megaphone, he wore the resolute gaze of someone who simply wouldn’t let the city forget the power of helping each other out. A few days earlier, he’d noticed how everyone around him seemed to have drifted into indifference, and decided: If gentle reminders don’t work, maybe it’s time to make some noise! Sure, he was also hoping for free pastries (or at least a decent Wi-Fi connection), but jolting the crowd awake was what really mattered.

The first to hear him was the so-called “pigeon mafia.” They took off in an angry flutter of wings, muttering something like, “Another street preacher? Time to find a new rooftop.” Sergey paid them no mind. In his eyes, his thundering battle cry—“Left wing forward!”—was bound to rescue, if not the whole world, then at least somebody’s dwindling hope for change.

From the moment he started bellowing, a low-key frenzy seized the passersby. Some were sure it was an ad for a miracle vacuum cleaner; others thought he was recruiting for a flash mob called “Out-Shout Your Neighbor.” Meanwhile, the more skeptical onlookers eyed him warily, suspecting yet another con job. “Yeah, we’ve heard it all before,” they grumbled. “Claim to save the motherland, then disappear with our money.” But Sergey pressed on, convinced that even a single spark of belief was worth all the suspicious looks in the world.

Sergey refused to let up, shouting slogans about peace and friendship as if offering a two-shouts-for-the-price-of-one deal. Inside, everything churned, from hurt and longing to the fear of looking foolish, but on the outside, he seemed like any street performer handing out free hugs at a generous discount. The crowd grew more suspicious by the second; someone even whispered about a coffee special at the nearby café, at least it was quieter there. Then Sergey recalled his mentor’s words, from the man who taught him not only the craft of public speaking but also how to pass a woman’s handbag at strict attention: Change the story you tell yourself.

As though pierced by those words, Sergey abruptly stopped mid-sentence. The megaphone quivered in his hands—suddenly, it dawned on him that this so-called license to speak so boldly was nothing more than an old “Loudest Shout at the Summer House” certificate from his grandmother. Struggling for breath, he exhaled and softly asked, “Does anyone have a better idea on how we can live together in peace?” The crowd—skeptical mere seconds ago—fell unexpectedly silent. The pigeons muttered, “All that ruckus for nothing!” Then, from somewhere in the back, a timid voice (which turned out to be my third cousin’s) piped up, “I’ve got a tomato patch—happy to share…”

That small, unassuming gesture seemed to spark everyone into action. People started opening up about what truly weighed on their minds: one complained about the perpetual renovation next door, another fretted over staggering utility bills, and someone else confessed to long-held dreams of opening a café—yet could never summon the courage. Little by little, the gathering evolved into a friendly circle of dreamers and experimenters, bound by a spirit of honesty and mutual understanding. In the midst of it all stood Sergey, suddenly aware that no megaphone could replace a real conversation—one where people could laugh, lament, and genuinely hear each other out.

At last, he gave an awkward scratch at the back of his head and admitted, “Honestly, I just wanted to show how NOT to call on everyone to be friends…” The crowd burst into riotous laughter and genuine applause. Then someone spoke up, suggesting they all meet right there in a week’s time to calmly discuss how to help one another bring those ideas to life—maybe start a collective volunteer project or launch a free exchange for goods and food. In the evening light casting gold across the city square, it became unmistakably clear: the secret of unity doesn’t lie in loud proclamations, but in truly hearing each other out. The pigeons, strutting around on scattered crumbs with businesslike flair, seemed to echo the sentiment: “Ah, finally they’re doing something that matters, instead of all that empty racket!”