But something tells me: the country is anxious, except for the French, the rest of the Germans and the Japanese fled and the top wants not a personal gesheft with curbs, but life-affirming optimism for the crowd and a balanced decision for the cabinet. Having no skill, not understanding production, comprehending the automotive industry by touch, you have to compose impromptu, the only meaning of which is to please. The first promise is that the plant will receive the former name Moskvich, the general director and a new car platform (or two, or maybe three), by the end of the year it will assemble 600 commercial vehicles and even several coffee makers (or coffee grinders, or vacuum cleaners, or electric cars). Did you please?
But it turned out that the art of walking along a career tightrope now requires not one-time promises, but also a working plant. Then I had to clarify my own fantasies, promising quite tangible Togliatti Ladas at the Moskvich plant. It’s not embarrassment, it’s a scandal. AvtoVAZ is in a coma and unable to work meaningfully and rhythmically, not to mention moving to the capital. There was an urgent idea to substitute KamAZ. But KamAZ, which had just survived the coercion to the Aurus, reaching out for the national transport electrification project, felt caught red-handed and deftly moved aside, mumbling indistinctly regarding its own passenger platform, which might not be taken from anywhere.
From the desertion of KamAZ breathed an ax and a block, which forced me to move from verbal abstractions to creating tangible illusions. And then the presentation of a non-existent model range at a non-existent plant broke out. In the empty workshops, pictures of third-class Chinese cars from JAC were shown. They did not appreciate it at the top, they were offended at the bottom. Putting a bad Chinese up your nose instead of a bad Moskvich means a contemptuous belief in the illegibility of the population, ready to believe the inscription “Elephant” on a cage with a tiger. But time passes, the people are perplexed, they are nervously waiting upstairs, but neither the factory, nor the partner, nor the whipping boy is visible. And then there are the Iranians.
