A Closed City.
Closed cities (also known as ZATO – zakrytye administrativno-territorial’nye obrazovaniya) in Russia refer to urban areas with restricted access due to their association with sensitive state operations, particularly in the military, nuclear, and aerospace sectors. Established primarily during the Soviet era, these cities were designed to house strategic infrastructure and were often omitted from official maps. Entry and exit were tightly regulated, with access granted only to individuals possessing special permits. Foreign nationals were typically barred from entering entirely.
The proliferation of closed cities peaked during the Cold War, when the need for secrecy and security in scientific and military research was paramount. Following the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, many of these cities were gradually declassified or experienced relaxed restrictions. However, several still exist today, serving strategic purposes for the Russian Federation. Life in these cities was often paradoxical: while residents experienced a high degree of isolation and surveillance, they also benefited from relatively well-developed infrastructure, higher wages, and social privileges designed to ensure loyalty and retention of skilled personnel.
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In January 2019, I had the opportunity to visit Omsk, a major city in southwestern Siberia, accompanied by a close friend. Although not born in Omsk itself, he spent his early years in a nearby village and maintained personal connections to the region. Having never traveled so far from home — particularly to a country with such a complex and turbulent history as Russia — I was deeply intrigued by the invitation. During our stay over New Year’s Eve and the first week of January, we were also joined by one of his childhood friends, who remained in the region. Together, we explored various urban and rural areas in and around Omsk, often driving for hours through the vast, frozen landscape — characterized by birch forests, empty fields, and intermittent signs of habitation.
This journey, though personal in nature, was also motivated by a desire to observe and document a reality vastly different from my own. I carried my camera everywhere, aiming to create a photographic record that would function both as a visual diary and as a tool for critical reflection. Interestingly, according to the taxi driver who picked us up at the airport, Omsk had once held the status of a closed city due to its industrial and military significance — particularly in the gas and oil sectors. While these industries once formed the backbone of the local economy, the post-Soviet period has seen significant changes. Although military infrastructure is reportedly still present, many associated sites have since been abandoned.
Despite prior research into Siberia, Russian history, and Soviet-era infrastructure, nothing could fully prepare me for the experience of being there. The sense of cultural and environmental dislocation was profound — almost surreal. The world I encountered seemed to exist in parallel to my own, shaped by a different historical trajectory and socio-political logic. What began as a visit to celebrate the New Year with a friend’s family evolved into something far more meaningful. Through the lens of my camera and the stories of those I met, I sought to capture a fragment of contemporary life — seen through the eyes of a foreign observer.
