What you arranged – in the USSR it was good, in the USSR it was bad... In all times someone was good, someone was bad, someone was lucky, someone was not very good...
My grandmother and grandfather earned an apartment and lived for five thousand rubles, three sons were excellent, there was nothing to complain about. But there was a neighbor who worked with my grandfather in the factory — she survived five of her six children who died of drunkenness and — imagine! and drug addiction. I was still small when they died one after another, and I was thirty, that is, they became addicted in the deep USSR.
Grandfather told me that an employee at the factory disappeared from work right after Orwell: there was a man - but he seemed to never have been.
Reading Strugatsky, I think how glorious it was: in the USSR everyone was kind and sought to space (in fact, as Boris Nathanovich said, it was only their brother and their ideal world), and reading Vasily Aksenov about the 60s, I can't get rid of the feeling of dirt.
Let’s be objective: the fuck hasn’t changed. Someone is still sick, someone is sick. Someone is still rich (except that it is not from under the floor to get goods, but in the open), someone is poor. And again: society is still divided, hell, into intels and prolls, although sometimes not too clearly.