Things started going wrong with the fifth debate right from the beginning. We had planned it for June 1. We found excellent participants, and they agreed right away. Two days later, one of them backed out. And then someone had the idea of inviting Ksyusha Sobchak, who had just announced the creation of her own political movement. Gaidar handled the arrangements with her. Ksenia agreed immediately — and to debate absolutely any opponent we chose. At first we were surprised. But then, over the next three days, Ksyusha seemed to appear on every TV and radio program imaginable. That calmed us down: we figured she was promoting her movement, so appearing at our debate made perfect sense. We were thrilled and, rubbing our hands in anticipation of THE EVENT, coordinated June 6 with the club and with Shargunov. We did have concerns that she might not show up. Serious ones. But both Gaidar and I spoke with her several times. Every single time she confirmed everything without hesitation. The last time I called was around four o’clock. - Everything okay? You remember? - Yes, of course. The club on Brestskaya at eight. I’ll definitely be there. - Do you know how to get there? (I explain.) There’ll be about five hundred people in the audience and a ton of journalists. - Yes, great. I’ll definitely be there. 7:50 p.m. The hall is packed. The usual nervous atmosphere. Everyone is demanding seats, which had already run out by six. Then a man in a jacket walks up to Kazakov and asks who the organizer is. I’m standing about three meters away and can’t hear what they’re saying, but from the way Kazakov’s face starts to stretch, I understand everything. And by the final stage of that facial transformation, I understand she isn’t running late. She’s not coming. My stomach starts hurting instantly. I grab Gaidar and Kazakov and drag them outside. To call. To argue. To plead. To threaten. To tempt. To shame. On the way, various acquaintances stop me and congratulate me on the success. I thank them and flash the broadest smile possible. I step outside and see a huge line at the entrance — my stomach hurts even more. From my phone — no answer. From Gaidar’s phone — no answer. Then Gaidar, shouting, "I need your phone," literally runs up to a passerby and starts calling. Her mother answers. - Who is this? Yes. Yes. This is terribly awkward. We’re very sorry. But due to family circumstances, which we can’t even talk about, Ksenia will not be coming. A council at Fili (an expression meaning an emergency strategy huddle): do we cancel or put on a circus? Everything is bad. But canceling would be worse. So what do we do? It’s already 8:05, and we’re frantically trying to remember who’s in the hall: Olshansky, Parker, Nosik, Gelman, Belykh, Shargunov, Kashin, Kormiltsev, the Youth Public Chamber in full force, Gorodnicheva, Chadayev — basically everyone! What if they refuse? What if they leave when they find out? What are we even supposed to do? A car drives by, and someone inside shouts, "Hi, Masha." Masha points at the guy: let’s take him. I know him, he’s from Young Russia. I yell: park and run over here. He comes up, and I say: Sobchak didn’t show, so we’re going to improvise something with the youth people, and you’re a participant. He agrees, stunned. I call Yashin: get here immediately. In the end we decide: we’ll catch youth leaders around the hall. I’ll get Gorodnicheva and whoever else I can, Gaidar will get Gudkov, Kazakov will grab anyone he runs into. I run off and realize I have no idea what Gorodnicheva looks like. I go into the hall and simply ask: has anyone seen Gorodnicheva? They point her out. I grab her by the arm and drag her into a corner. She looks at me in horror and asks, "Who are you?" I explain the situation and tell her that only she can save us. Gorodnicheva agrees, still looking at me in horror. She probably was just afraid to refuse. She must have remembered that the first rule of dealing with lunatics is to agree with them about everything. I run on. On the way I run into Parker: - Max, (I explain the situation) so now we have to do something with the youth people, and you have to take part in it so the whole thing doesn’t completely collapse. - Uhhh. I’m willing, but I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do. I realize that I myself don’t know what I want from him. Fine, I say, just be ready in case. I look for Kashin, Olshansky, Nosik. Can’t find them. Time: twenty past. We can’t drag this out any longer. I walk onto the stage. I open my mouth, and in my head: what do I say? what if everyone leaves? what if they don’t leave? what if the jury leaves? what if none of the youth people wants to come onstage? what if only about 70 people stay — do we hold it for them? how am I supposed to call these damn youth leaders up from the stage if I don’t even know half their names? there aren’t enough microphones or chairs — what do I do? Well, the rest you remember yourselves. Gorodnicheva refused. After first talking to someone on the phone. Gudkov (People’s Party) refused. Shaposhnikov (United Russia youth wing) refused. (Though it should be noted that no one had spoken to him beforehand — I just remembered he was in the hall.) Gaidar really, really didn’t want to, but I gave her a terrifying look and simply announced her. In the end, it turned out not nearly as awful as it could have been. In places it was even interesting. And it was certainly revealing and instructive. In any case, we made the right decision when we chose not to announce a full cancellation. And now we can probably hold debates under absolutely any conditions. Even if the earth crashes into the celestial axis (a Russian idiom for total catastrophe). I’ll post my thoughts on the debate itself, its outcome, and the participants later.