The town of Muhyen was once a jewel in Russia's remote wilderness. As the centre of the Soviet Union's biggest logging operation, this tiny outpost about 6,200 kilometres east of Moscow was blessed with famous mineral springs, well-stocked stores and even a gift shop.
But when the Soviet Union collapsed in the early 1990s and the forestry business went bankrupt, residents abandoned the town in droves, part of a mass exodus out of Russia's eastern settlements after the lifeline of subsidies from Moscow was severed.
People who didn't escape Muhyen were left with little to do except drink and contemplate the town's bleak scenery of empty shops and quiet factories.
Where Russians saw only despair, the Chinese saw an opportunity. They injected millions into the bankrupt forestry company, cleared debts, rebuilt the town's roads and refurbished classrooms. These days, timber clatters and diesel engines rumble as the town comes back to life.
But the local residents aren't grateful — instead, some have reacted violently toward those responsible for Muhyen's revival. Troublemakers have started sabotaging company equipment: breaking windows, setting fires and stealing the sparkplugs from trucks.
Last summer, in an apparent prank aimed at the Chinese, somebody photocopied a handwritten advertisement in Russian and posted it on walls and doors. The sign said: "Chinese man will buy Russian dogs, cats and girls." A price was fixed for the animals, but the poster said the girls were "negotiable."
Why would the people of Muhyen try to drive away the foreigners who are saving the town from ruin? "I rack my brains about this every day," said Cai Guowei, deputy general director of OOO Muhyen Forest. "Why aren't they happy?"A great tide of Russians washed eastwards across the Asian continent over the past 1,000 years, from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean, settling the world's largest country. Now that historic migration has reversed itself. The exodus from the snowy steppes of Siberia provides a troubling metaphor for a profound change that's taking place in Russia: It is literally shrinking.
Like the decaying town of Muhyen, the entire country is losing population. As with Muhyen, too, the fastest way to stop the decline would be to offer a warm welcome to foreigners. But the people of Russia, like residents of the town that lost everything except its pride, refuse to embrace this solution.
In a six-week trek across Russia, from Moscow to the far eastern reaches of the country, the fault lines caused by this demographic upheaval are clearly evident, revealing powerful undercurrents of xenophobia and racism, driven by anxieties over an uncertain future.
Russia needs immigration, it seems, but most Russians don't want it.
Consider this typical scene: A group of young professionals sitting around a dinner table in the Siberian city of Krasnoyarsk. The hosts for the evening were Roman Zhabko, 34, a computer network administrator, and his wife, Olga Zhabko, 28, who manages a small business. Like the majority of Russians, they're loyal to President Vladimir Putin; a poster of Mr. Putin is the only decoration on their living room walls, besides the colourful drawings their toddler has scrawled on the wallpaper.
"Demographics is an acute problem in Russia, and it's discussed by everybody," Ms. Zhabko said as she put another dish of meats and cheeses on the table.
"More and more immigrants will come to Russia and they will bring their own culture," Ms. Zhabko continued. "Russian culture will disappear. This is the most horrible vision I can imagine. We are one of the ancient, rich cultures of the world, and we could just disappear."
At the moment, times are good. Russia's resource-blessed economy is booming, even if the wealth is shared by few. As a fitting symbol of its renaissance, Russia is chairing the meeting of the Group of Eight leading industrial nations — the exclusive club of wealthy countries — for the first time this year.
