For the German press, where strong expressions are often masked with asterisks, this move is provocative. However, for taz, long known for its love of provocative covers and wordplay, such shock tactics are quite characteristic. But the joke is constructed somewhat more complexly than it seems at first glance. The phrase on the cover refers to the famous German comedy "Fack ju Göhte," released in 2013. The film became a huge box office hit and subsequently turned into a trilogy. For the German audience, this title is almost instantly recognizable.  "Fack ju Göhte" is a deliberately distorted English phrase "Fuck you, Goethe." The plot centers around former convict Zeki Müller, who becomes a teacher in a troubled class, initially pursuing goals that are far from educational: money hidden under the school gym that he wants to retrieve. taz takes a familiar joke for the German reader and pushes it to the limit — translating it into Russian, and already without euphemisms. There is another interesting detail about the cover. The Russian phrase is grammatically incorrect: the infinitive "идти" (to go) is used, while addressing a specific person would require the imperative mood — "иди" (go). The mistake looks almost like an intentional calque from a foreigner trying to curse in Russian. Only at the bottom of the front page does the political reason for this linguistic provocation become clear: the cessation of the Goethe Institute's operations in Russia. The story began on September 2, when the German government officially placed the responsibility for a hybrid attack related to Leipzig/Halle Airport on Russia. Among the retaliatory measures, Berlin announced the closure of the Russian consulate in Bonn and the cessation of the Russian House in Berlin as a cultural institute. Germany also decided to expel staff sent there from Russia. Moscow's response followed almost immediately. On September 3, the president of the Goethe Institute, Gesche Joost, stated that the measures announced by the Russian side meant the cessation of the organization's operations in Russia. "This is the end of an era of German-Russian cultural relations," she characterized the situation. The Goethe Institute in Moscow was established in 1992, followed by a branch in St. Petersburg, and in 2009 — in Novosibirsk. Thus, the diplomatic conflict surrounding cultural centers unexpectedly found itself on the front page of a German newspaper — and in the language of the country that is closing the German institute. And taz managed to package the entire story into one crude phrase: simultaneously understandable to the Russian reader and instantly recognizable to the German thanks to "Fack ju Göhte."
