Legal Hell: How a 75-Year-Old Woman Found Herself Homeless

      At the end of June, a message appeared in Kirov's public forums stating that the home of pensioner Galina Dobrynina — located at 1st Gromovoy Lane, 45A — has turned into a real semi-abandoned shack. Surprisingly, but true: despite the burned floors and walls, and the collapsed ceiling, the building is still officially listed as "residential." We publish photos of the conditions in which the 75-year-old woman lives below — but even they do not convey what is visible to the naked eye.

      "Are you from the police?"

      Upon arriving at the site, I see an elderly woman feeding two charming cats by a weathered fence. The owner herself is thin, almost transparent, like her pets.

      "Are you from the police? I received a call recently," Galina Innokentyevna asks with a smile (we only learned each other's names closer to the end of the conversation).

      While I try to explain that I am "from the newspaper," it turns out that she hears poorly. But realizing that there is no danger from me, the woman lets me onto the territory — very small, just like the house itself.

      She hesitates to let me inside: "I'm afraid to let you in, what if it falls on my head, the ceiling is still collapsing."

      There's no choice — we have to look. We begin to make our way inside. The entrance area is cluttered with boards, old things, books, photographs — everything that somewhat reminds of the former life here. In front of the iron door, separating the once-living space, is a burned corridor from ten years ago: without a floor, with black, half-destroyed walls.

      It turns out that Galina Innokentyevna raised the issue back then, after the fire, ten years ago. But in the administration, even under Bykov, they paid no attention to her plight, and the commission that was supposed to assess the condition of the housing, according to the woman, openly mocked her.

      "A commission came, sat there and laughed in my face. He said: 'I have a big garden.' And I told him: 'I have three beds,'" recalls the pensioner.

      Of course, this brought no improvements. And at the end of June 2026, in the very room where the stove stood and there was a passage to the bedroom, the ceiling collapsed with a crash.

      When I managed to get in there, the structure continued to fall apart: the ceiling hung directly over our heads, metal rods stuck out, large stones periodically fell from above, and wires dangled like snakes near the floor.

      In this ruined interior, the Red Corner looked ironic — it turned out that Galina Innokentyevna is a deeply religious person. She sought help from the local Church of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. But even there, she was not heard: "They said: 'We only help churches.'"

      "I don't even go into the bedroom now — it's scary. I sleep here, in the corridor, sitting, or go to neighbors who will take me in," shares the pensioner.

      The cats are the only ones who stay with her: one of them, frightened after the collapse, is now afraid to enter the house at all.

      "I was sitting on a log in the yard, hugging them, when the moon appeared. While it's summer — I'm still happy, but what will happen in the fall — I don't know," she says. "The owner must apply himself."

      Before me, she had representatives from the Investigative Committee. In the agency I contacted for a comment, they explained: a criminal case has been opened regarding the incident under Article 238 of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation (provision of services that do not meet safety requirements), and the pensioner was offered temporary accommodation at the Social Adaptation Center.

      "She sometimes comes home from the Center — to feed the cats, check the situation. We are ready to provide all possible assistance," the Investigative Committee reported.

      However, judging by what Galina Innokentyevna told me about her night before our meeting (she spent the night on a log in the yard), she does not want or cannot stay at the Center.

      From the Investigative Committee, I was directed to the Ministry of Social Development. There, they also assured that assistance is being provided:

      "She is on the waiting list for housing. The administration is resolving the issue — that is their competence. She is currently temporarily placed in the Social Adaptation Center and will remain there until the housing issue is resolved," the ministry explained.

      In the territorial administration of the Lenin district, I received a harsh but honest response:

      "To receive housing from the maneuverable fund, her living space must be recognized as unfit for habitation. At present, it has not been recognized as such. If the owner does not submit an application and gather documents, according to Article 95 of the Housing Code, the maneuverable fund is not applicable."

      When asked if someone could help the pensioner with the documents, the dry response was:

      "She has been given all the phone numbers and lists of documents. I cannot collect papers for everyone — everyone will line up for such assistance."

      After that, I called the Social Services Center as an ordinary person, inquiring whether help could be obtained in gathering documents. The answer was already known:

      "This is definitely not for us. Either she applies in person, or her representative with a power of attorney."

      And there is no one to blame — everyone is following the law. A 75-year-old woman, living alone, who worked as a social worker for 14 years, standing in line for housing improvement for about 40 years, has not submitted documents to recognize her home as emergency. And no one cares that she simply does not have the health, strength, or even a proper roof to do so.

      Formally, everyone is right. Officials do not violate instructions, the social services center does not take on functions that do not belong to it, and investigators have even opened a criminal case. But all this legal correctness crumbles before the simple question: if not her, then who? If not now, then when?

      This story is not about a private case. It is about how the system is arranged, where laws are written for show, not for living people. About how easy it is to hide behind bureaucratic responses when there is a collapsed ceiling and complete uncertainty about tomorrow looming behind.