Dr. Kamin, KAA, Chairman Kamin, President Kamin (born December 6, 1968) — psychiatric and public figure Kamin Andrey Aleksandrovich, who also goes by the name Volkov, a Meme of the Nizhny Novgorod Internet, member of the All-Russian Professional Psychotherapeutic League. Chairman of its local chapter. The most original and profound thinker in Nizhny Novgorod's unscientific fiction of the 21st century. President of one of the telephone emergency assistance associations. Member of the Council of the League Against Tuberculosis. And so on and so forth.

Since March 3, 2012, has been posting on the NN.RU forum under the name of psychologist Evgeny Mishin, a Nizhny Novgorod business trainer [1], [2].

Secretary-General of the UN Foundation, Secretary-General of the Nizhny Novgorod UN Support Foundation (Yandex press portrait), Director-General of the UN Assistance Foundation in Nizhny Novgorod (Public Relations Department of the Nizhny Novgorod City Administration).

Certified Gestalt therapist.

Married. Two children.

Nature of the Phenomenon

Served in the guards. In peacetime — a self-employer and standalone expert in social policy and social health.

A highly professional grant-seeker and grant-consumer, targeting funds intended for charitable purposes: social integration of persons with disabilities in the Volga Federal District, inventing a lightning-fast telephone assistance service, coordinating a UN auxiliary headquarters in Nizhny Novgorod, presenting seminars in Honolulu, and other projects that few people have heard of, or have heard of but prefer not to recall.

On the internet he is known for discussions in which he presents himself as an authoritative private individual and, simultaneously, as an Anonymous [3].

Services Offered

About Himself

« I am a psychotherapist — and not Jewish. What's more, I served in a guards regiment. So no kind of pork will offend me.
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Education

  • School No. 173, City of Gorky. 1977 — 1979, graduating class: 3
  • School No. 49, 1978 — 1985, graduating class: 10B
  • NGMA-Nizhny Novgorod, Faculty of General Medicine, Specialist (general medicine) 1985 — 1993, groups 36, 54
  • MGI-Moscow, Moscow, Faculty of Theory and Practice of Gestalt Therapy, 1995 — 1998

Projects and Titles

In his own words:

« 1. Editor of the electronic journal "Business and Psychology" — 10,000 subscribers (latest issue)

2. Member of the Council of the Nizhny Novgorod branch of the Russian Association of Emergency Telephone Counseling

3. GROUP PSYCHOTHERAPEUTIC WORK WITH DREAMS, IRRATIONAL EVENTS, AND ALTERED STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS. The next cycle will begin in summer at the "Academy of Human Ecology" (Alekseevskaya 41). You are welcome.

4. I lead the psychotherapy section of a medical Internet club (session on 28.04 at 16:30)

5. Conflict resolution trainer. The project grew out of the "Pedagogy of Health" program of the Open Society Institute.

6. Communication and role-playing training group for teenagers. I run this group together with Anastasiya Yermolayeva. (More details)

7. Member of the board of the Nizhny Novgorod branch of the All-Russian Professional Psychotherapeutic League (board chair). I intend to establish a volunteer center where students could, among other things, gain practical experience counseling regular clients, as well as by phone or even online (of a sort). I have heard that more than 200 of them are placed in schools every year. And they pay for their training as practical psychologists, too.

8. Psychological support groups for volunteers in the "Prevention of HIV Infection, Drug Addiction, and Sexually Transmitted Diseases" program of the Anti-AIDS Foundation.

9. Head of public relations at the Nizhny Novgorod Association of Practicing Psychologists and Psychotherapists. Conferences (discounts for residents of small towns — more details...)

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Awards

Awards, certificates, portfolio, projects

  • Letters of commendation from the Chairman of the Legislative Assembly of Nizhny Novgorod Region for best legislative initiative in 2004 and 2005. For the projects "Let Us Be Heard" 2002–2003 and "Legal Protection of the Rights of Persons with Disabilities in Russia: Access to Education" 2003–2006.

Membership in societies and associations

  • President of the Russian Association of Emergency Telephone Psychological Assistance (RATEPP).
  • Member of the board of the Nizhny Novgorod branch of the All-Russian Professional Psychotherapeutic League (board chair).
  • Member of the Council of the League Against Tuberculosis (?).

An example of work published under his real name

Cycle "Spikhoterapevticheskie Bayki" ("Psycho-therapeutic Tall Tales"), story "Satan-18"

<..> Gradually I made my way into the melancholy world of a man who had spent the greater part of his life at a remote post. His window onto the outside world was a television with a single channel, and maps of American cities targeted by their missiles.

He had to knock one back for courage before opening the high-priority emergency package. But then he could study their streets, which he imagined as wild slums and dens of vice. And there was always the option of going fishing with fellow servicemen at the lakes. But the colonel was a loner and more often went alone. He would fish, drink, wander the tundra. On one such trip he took his son along. And the boy vanished. Searches turned up nothing. He may have fallen through one of those small, sky-blue, lethally cold lakes they called "stakan" — shot-glasses. And more than once his wife later reproached him for drowning even his son in a shot-glass. Although the colonel remembered nothing of the sort. He remembered nothing at all about the disappearance. The child had been with him just seconds before. They had been watching the northern lights. Then he vanished, as if dissolving into the air. Only strange round prints remained in the snow.

Searches turned up nothing. But everyone was convinced the boy had drowned. And so an empty grave appeared in the cemetery, a place one could visit from time to time. But his wife avoided it, and after a while she went to visit her parents on the mainland and stayed there for good. Of all his close creatures, the colonel was left with only a cat — a one-eyed, hard-of-hearing, malevolent creature that had turned up from nowhere after the son's disappearance. The wife had first taken it in; then it and the colonel lived together alone.

They lived in near-poverty. His pay had stopped coming. The officers' food ration was all that saved them. But living with no money at all is hard, even at a remote post. There was no way to get out to the mainland. Even the shop stopped giving him alcohol on credit. So he drank vile local moonshine that smelled of kerosene and rocket fuel. He drank terribly, to blot out the grey routine. And the equally grey reality of the idiot box. One day, catching sight of the CNN logo in the corner of the screen against a backdrop of burning ruins of what had been the citadel of Russian democracy, the colonel became convinced that they had been occupied. And soon these new masters from his nightmares would come. His fellow servicemen's reassurances did nothing for him. He went fishing again.

And out there something came to him. When he called it a devil, I smiled to myself. I had seen enough alcoholics who had drunk their way to encounters not only with devils but with Father Frost.

But this was no devil — this was THE DEVIL. A gigantic creature that at first blended with the landscape, its horns scraping the clouds. The reddish-brown fur resembled withered grass, or rather the dwarf trees of the surrounding hills. If you did not tilt your head back, all that came into view were horny hooves oozing black slime. But each step sent a tremor through the ground underfoot. The devil's voice resembled the roar of rocket engines. And at the same time it was as soundless as an aircraft that has broken the sound barrier.

That was why he did not at first notice the insulting words taking shape in his head: "Slave. Mortal. Filth." To get the colonel's attention, the devil began to stoop. He found himself looking into enormous slitted animal pupils, plated scales like fish-mail covering the muzzle, strange uniform conical teeth, and a forked tongue — all of it suggesting a serpent more than anything else.

— Slave, hear my command. You have amused me by sacrificing your firstborn. As a reward I can raise you above kings. Or I can grind you into the dirt, below a worm. — So what do I do? — the colonel asked, puzzled. He could hear no actual command in the devil's words. — DO NOT INTERRUPT! LICK MY HOOVES — the devil thundered. — Like hell I will, — the colonel recoiled in disgust, thinking he had seen something writhing in the black slime on the hoof. — YOU WANT TO GO TO THE INFERNAL REGIONS WHILE STILL ALIVE?!! — the devil roared, driving the colonel's Moskvich into the ground with a single blow of the hoof. The car sank as if into a bog, into the bedrock of permafrost. The impact knocked the colonel off his feet; he stumbled and fell. Slime from the hoof looming above poured over his face. His mouth filled with unbearable bitterness and an indescribable bliss.

The colonel found himself in the soft leather interior of a ZIL limousine rolling across Red Square — or rather what remained of it. Behind him the GUM arcade gaped with broken windows, dusted in grey snow. To the left, like a monstrous flower, the Mausoleum had been blown open from within. To the right rose the cropped crosses and stripped domes of St. Basil's Cathedral. And further on could be made out the greenish scum of a river in bloom, dammed with bloated bodies. A strange billboard fashioned from the inverted monument to Minin and Pozharsky — driven into the cobblestones headfirst — depicted the colonel in a fantastical uniform with aiguillettes and epaulettes. The caption read simply: "To the True Savior of the Fatherland." And over all of it lay grey ash. In various places behind him, the reflections of fires glowed.

And in the open gates of the Spasskaya Tower, blossoming trees could be glimpsed, prancing horsemen and children at play.

A cold shower brought him back to himself. The devil had apparently spat into the lake. A rainbow slick was spreading across its surface. On account of it, everyone would afterward insist that he had drowned his car. — What do I do? — the colonel repeated. — BURN IT ALL! — the devil shrieked, unexpectedly high-pitched. — I cannot, — the colonel said helplessly, with horror realizing that he knew perfectly well how to arrange an accident at his missile installation. — DO NOT THINK TO DECEIVE THE FATHER OF LIES, — the devil bellowed, stooping again and jabbing a sharp claw into his stomach. The sensation was exactly as if he had been skewered and the blade twisted. He fell again, losing consciousness from the pain. And he never did understand where the devil went, leaving only strange concentric rings on the frozen grass. The hoof-prints looked like targets. What also remained was the pain in his body, tearing to get out. On the way home the colonel vomited blood several times. (Hemorrhage from varicose esophageal veins? I noted to myself, clinically.) A terrible, searing cold had penetrated inside him as he made his way across the tundra, skirting the checkpoint to enter the settlement directly.

At home the cat seemed to have gone berserk. It flew at the colonel, biting and scratching, and was kicked under the wardrobe, from where it continued to hiss. Turning on everything that could provide warmth, the colonel lay down in his clothes, wrapped in a blanket, and caught himself wanting to light a bonfire right there in the middle of the room.

The cold would not pass. But at last sleep came. Through it, the colonel felt the cat settle on his stomach. Long-awaited warmth spread through the right side of his body.

In the morning the cold returned. With a dull thud the stiffened body of the cat fell to the floor. Again its death struck the colonel as wholly sudden. Although I tried to link it to the preceding kick. But the colonel flatly refused to see any connection. Cursing the cold, he trudged outside. The frozen earth of the garden patch resisted the spade. So he went to the boiler house that was smoking nearby. There he opened the damper and threw the cat's body into the furnace. For some reason he did not close it but stood watching the heat warp the body, the face. Then, as if in a soundless cry, the cat's mouth fell open. And suddenly that cry rang out inside his head — not one cry but a whole chorus of wailing and weeping. In the coals he saw thousands of tiny figures of people burning alive. In horror he reached into the furnace, and singeing his hair and eyebrows, burning his face and hands, he pulled the cat's body out. All at once he felt a compulsion to go to the cemetery, to his son's grave. There, with bare hands, he scraped away the earth and buried the charred remains. And again it seemed to him that they sank downward, as into a swamp, into the permafrost.

When he arrived at the regimental office in this state — scorched, hands black with earth — to submit his resignation, it was accepted almost immediately. He only had to spend a short time in hospital having his burned hands treated. — So it turns out you managed to outwit the devil? — You can't outwit him. — But we're all alive. And no catastrophe occurred. — He torments you. — Me? — Youble, double... The colonel's speech was gradually losing coherence. At the same time he began waving his arms. He swept a plastic calendar stand off the table. It struck the glass door of the medicine cabinet with a clatter. From the corridor the able-bodied patients were already hurrying over, briskly rolling a bed sheet into a restraining band. They surrounded the colonel but hesitated to approach. A little old auxiliary nurse who had squeezed in among them called him gently by name, coaxing him back to his ward.

But he was already roaring in near-incomprehensible syllables: — Knible, klyagu kle... — Are you swearing or casting a spell? — THE BOOK! — the colonel managed to bark as a final word, being led from the treatment room with arms firmly held.

Heading upstairs to the doctors' office, I had completely forgotten about the book. But glancing up from yet another case history, my eye fell on the black spine of a Bible that some Protestant preacher had brought to the hospital.

I picked it up and went back downstairs. The colonel, strapped to his bed, was passing the time in proud solitude, still muttering something under his breath. By the intonation, it sounded like obscenities. I placed the book on his bedside table. But he twisted and indicated his stomach with his eyes. I laid the book on his right side, and only then did he let out a relieved sigh and go quiet. An equally deep sigh was heard simultaneously from below, in the basement. Or lower still. No doubt they were digging a tunnel so they could run the patients over to the neighboring Institute of Applied Physics at night to forge the nuclear shield of the homeland. <..>

Contacts

Email

  • camin@osi.nnov.ru — no longer operational owing to Soros's expulsion from Russia (note from Dr. Kamin)

Phone

  • Work phone +7 908 759 24 56
  • Phone given out at seminars +79519092456

Official pages

Interesting facts

  • A typical discussion with Kamin concerning his anonymity (link).
  • The text of this article about A. Kamin is regularly deleted by an interested party. In its place an unknown individual posts obscenities and the threatening message: "Dear staff of this website. You are using images of Kamin A.A. without his consent. The same applies to the publication of his personal data."
  • The most memorable messages addressed to opponents in the Nizhny Novgorod Internet are sent under the names of Sistematicheskiy Khaker (archive) , Vnutrenniy Psikhiatr (Internal Psychiatrist), Karatelnyy Proktolog (Punitive Proctologist), and other colorful protective pseudonyms evoking the idea of unexpected intrusion into private life. Some of the usernames in use were created out of necessity owing to permanent bans on various NNRU forums.
« "<..> our public association runs a programme to promote Russia's achievements in the field of space exploration. At present these achievements are being downplayed or ignored by a number of foreign countries. Meanwhile, owing to a series of failures in the US space programme, Russia is in fact the world's leading space power. Yet this fact is being unjustly suppressed."
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See also