I started, then rewrote, deleted again... Could not find words for what we felt on February 24. Something was getting in the way, not letting me explain it properly. Then it turned out there was no need to search for the words. A month and a half later, in April, Boris Grebenshchikov wrote the song "Sorcery". It's all in one line of that song.
AND THERE IS NO TOMORROW ANYMORE.
Who are we who felt this? A small family: me, my wife, and two daughters. We have been living in Europe for many years. But put more precisely, in recent years we had lived in two countries. We spent all the big school holidays - summer and Christmas - in Russia. We all were beginning to wait for these holidays in advance - as soon as the previous holidays ended. In summer, we went first to one grandmother, to small provincial N-sk, then to the other - to a country house near Moscow.
And just a few weeks ago, in January, after the Christmas holidays, I was sitting in my mother-in-law's kitchen in Moscow. The TV was on, with some news about military exercises on the border with Ukraine, and I said that this time Russia would attack.
"Nonsense," the mother-in-law reacted. "Russia never attacks anyone. No one wants war. Why attack someone?"
"Well, for example, to create a land corridor to Crimea. To punish. For many reasons. Also simply because Russia can do it. Thousands of tanks near the border are needed for something."
"Nobody wants war. And least of all Russia. We have always only helped the other counties." – said my mother-in-law with a note of finality.
But when February 24 came, we did not expect it. And it is difficult, but therefore very important, to explain how we could not have foreseen this, not have expected it? We are not naïve, we knew our country very well. On that day, we understood what had happened, immediately and completely, and at the same moment we already knew what would happen next. We knew exactly what kind of lies will be issued by people with muscular faces on the TV screen. That this will not be called “war”, but the cruelty to Ukrainians will be inhuman. That the majority of the Russian population will accept the invasion with bright-eyed enthusiasm. That any protest against the war would be suppressed with excessive and mocking cruelty. We realized all this in a minute, but only after the war began. So how did we not expect this?
There is only one explanation:
Before that happened, we didn't want to accept it. We did not try to build scenarios, to model it. Because that would mean seeing and experiencing everything beforehand. To see and feel how our roots are being torn off, even before the black shadow that had been standing outside the door for a long time finally knocked this door down.
They did what they wanted for so long - to take revenge on Ukraine for its attempt at freedom and independence, to humiliate and subjugate it. But it is one thing to want it, and quite another to make it happen. The idea of the most terrible crime in the souls of a handful of bastards is just an idea. But the perpetration of this Cain's crime means the complicity of the whole country in it. This is blood, death and lies on such a diabolical scale that there is no turning back, and our world will never be the same again. Then everything was clear, scary, and hopeless. Neo-Stalinism has settled in Russia. And Ukraine will fall. A country that has made an attempt at a free life will be crushed by this huge, stupid and cruel monster.
February / early March
The first four days passed in a feeling of hopelessness. It didn't go anywhere and stayed with me for many more days. However, at some point, gradually, but quickly, another feeling began to mix with it - the want to do at least something. Thirst for action. Some of the events described below came out of this. Here's how it started.
On the morning of Monday, February 28, I had a meeting at work. Everyone was still working remotely after Covid, and it was online. There were about 15 people there – our entire small team, people from several European countries. One by one, they joined the chat, and it seemed to me that there was a cloud hanging over all of us, and that the others should feel it too. A minute passed in complete silence, and I was wondering whether to speak out about the war in a work meeting, when our boss, Dennis, suddenly asked me directly if I wanted to say something. May be he felt, or guessed, or himself intended to touch on this topic. And I replied that yes, I had something to say, and since he had asked, I would say it now. Because I am a Russian.
Russia invaded Ukraine. Any excuse for this invasion is a lie. What is happening is a terrible crime. Putin should be on trial. I knew that the Russian leadership dreamed of this, but I did not expect that they would dare to do so. In this I was mistaken, but there is nothing else for me to be wrong about. I grew up in Russia, I understand my country well, and therefore, if anyone has questions about how such a terrible thing could happen, in my free time I will always try to give an answer.
Another silence followed. Then Dennis said that it was very important that I spoke out, important for everyone, especially since there is a Ukrainian in our group - Oksana. Does she want to say something? Oksana turned on the microphone, but for several seconds she could not speak - she was crying. Although she quickly pulled herself together, it was heard that she was clearly distressed. She thanked me and said that if someone wants to support Ukraine, she has the details of several organizations that raise money for this. Dennis asked to send them to everyone in the group. No one said anything else and we moved on to working issues.
Probably, I would have spoken up anyway, right at this same meeting, on the first working day after the outbreak of the war; but it happened as if it was expected. Subsequently, several of my colleagues approached me, and I tried to explain my understanding of the events to them. It was very difficult for them, modern Europeans, to understand what was happening in Russia, and what drove the Russians when they suddenly attacked a neighboring, related country. Those educated among them understood, of course, what fascism was, but Western people have always treated Russia with naïve friendliness, and did not expect this aggression at all. But this is classic fascism – a war psychosis, gradually and purposefully induced on a huge country, with most of its people suddenly ready to unconditionally support a full-scale military attack on their neighbors, easily finding excuses for this. And just below the surface of those excuses you see the true motive, almost unhidden – an offence about the fallen empire, and the revenge for it. The carriers of this aggression are not a uniform mass. Their core - the source of absolute evil - is that type of people (very common in Russia) whose whole life has always been permeated with violence: such people live only a shadow of a life and cannot express themselves until they have the opportunity to take revenge, subjugate, intimidate and dispose of the lives of others. And this revenge will not stop in Ukraine - if they manage to seize it, they will move on, feeling for week spots, deceiving, terrorizing the world with nuclear weapons.
A couple months later, after Bucha and Mariupol, seeing residential buildings smashed into rubble by missile strikes, recognizing the animal and senseless cruelty, many Western people will choke with indignation and will no longer need explanations. But in the first days of the war, there was silence and confusion. And the first action was to think and explain. Well, calling it an action is a bit loud... an attempt to move a thousand-ton rock with bare hands. But I found it impossible just to do nothing.
February 2020. Prologue
I was then on a business trip to Moscow and suddenly decided to call an old acquaintance whom I had known since my move to Moscow back in 1995. We met in a canoe trip with had been the trigger of my move to Moscow. She was once a significant person for me - once, in a difficult period of my new Moscow life, she supported me quite a lot. Perhaps I supported myself, but talking to her and her brother gave me the impetus I needed. They understood me, and this was very valuable. So I decided to call her after a long break - we hadn't seen each other for probably eight years. We agreed to meet the next day in a café.
It was February 14, there were balloons hanging around the café, and many young couples. It is impossible to imagine a more inappropriate setting for the conversation that followed...
I don't remember how it turned to politics – because at first we talked about children and showed each other family photos. Perhaps I compared something between Europe and Russia, in my abrupt manner. I do not quite remember the further course of the conversation, but what is really important is the essence of the world view that began to unravel before me, leaving me in growing amazement and consternation.
We started with talking about the 90s (the same years in which I moved to Moscow, when the most dramatic changes took place for both of us). And she said that those were the most terrible years for the country. When the country was destroyed, brought to its knees and on the brink of extinction. I had heard those clichés many times, but I did not expect to hear it from her at all, and even less pronounced like this, with a trace of steely glint in her eyes. But that only a start: she suddenly made a program statement, telling me that the 90s were more terrible and destructive for the country than the war. Meaning the World War II... I wanted to get the conversation back on track, so I finally interrupted her and asked - what face of extinction was she now talking about? And how can you compare the 90s with the World War II?? Yes, the 90s were difficult, time of dramatic changes in the country, when many people had to look for completely new things to do, move from place to place, move to summer cottages and grow potatoes there or vice versa venture a move to the capital; people often had to radically change their lives - but this is normal, I myself went through this (albeit not to such a dramatic extent as older people). Of course, there were people who could not adapt, some got addicted to drink, but this is also life, and everyone had a choice… Here she told me that I spoke like the meanest bastard... That in the 90s people could not move anywhere, but died of hunger right where they were. I remember that at that moment I was completely taken aback and tried to sober her up, asking: "Tanya, aren't you lying? Where did they die? Who are you driving this blizzard to now? In the 90s, I moved from the N region to Moscow, but I also traveled apart from that, I was in Samara, Kaluga, Bryansk, and you and I were both in the Pskov region on that canouing trip. I have never even seen hungry people anywhere… Drunk - yes, but there were no hungry people. Who died? Where?"
The further course of the conversation is coming back to me as if through haze. But I will do my best to convey it. In response to my question, she told me about some old woman in the Ryazan region who had literally dried up from hunger (when, who saw it? why didn't they just feed her? were they too busy filming the video?) After which Tanya switched to a tone of condescending knowledge, referring to my ignorance and insisting that one should always check the opinions of experts. I understood what kind of experts she was talking about, I realized by now that I was in an interview with a victim of some radical propaganda cult, but I could not understand how this person whom I had known could succumb to this nonsense.
Tanya began to talk about the WW II; confident numbers poured in, but I still could not fathom how she could put the victims and sufferings of the war of 1941-1945 on the same level with the difficulties of the 90s. But she seemed to follow some program, so she suddenly moved to the topic of collectivization - and made a kind of a crazy emphasis on the fact that the kulaks were not as terrible as the kulak henchmen. This was clearly from the freshly consumed portion of brew they had been feeding her; I immediately realized that "kulak henchmen" is not a curse word, but a scientific term. And yes, Stalin’s repressions were justified, because there were almost no repressions – in 1937, Stalin simply began to fight the excesses of the NKVD, so almost all the victims of repression were the NKVD members themselves – just those who had gone too far in their actions.
Any of my objections were shattered by readily supplied facts - facts that fitted to any of my questions with an astonishing smoothness. And it could not be otherwise - after all, Tanya carefully studied the opinions of experts. But all this was a prelude. The conversation, according to its insane logic, was inexorably moving on to a focal point. To the explanation of how the world ticked. And then she said it.
Stalin is the father. He won the war. Without him, the country would have fallen, would have been destroyed. But Stalin won the war and saved the country. The people cannot be without a leader, but the leader must be special. He must be like a commander. And that's what Stalin was.
Without Stalin, we would not have existed.
But there are times when there is no such leader. Then the country plunges into desolation, humiliation, chaos. Betrayal is flourishing. And of course, enemies take advantage of this.
I didn't object. Once I found out that Stalin was my father, I was sitting spellbound. And I felt that this was not all - this was a moment of revelation, and I did not interrupt anymore. Surprisingly, this silence was recieved as appropriate, as if we were now bound by a thread of some mystery that can only be listened to. And I heard the main thing.
She did not believe it at once. Not immediately. She had her doubts. But the moment came, and she realised. Putin is him. The chosen one. The commander like Stalin. He came at last to save the country.
During this insane conversation, we often switched to raised tones, and the waitresses looked at us with some awkwardness. But now everything had been said. I heard everything. We left the café, walked a little along the Garden Ring, and said goodbye at the bus stop on Serpukhov Square.
The disgusting, depressing feeling of this conversation haunted me even on the next day. I felt better only once I told about it to my son, and he understood me. But how could a person be transformed to the point of a complete loss of critical thinking, to completely unconditional acceptance of lies from a certain source? How can one accept such an immoral view of people's lives, when people are reduced to the level of ants in an ant's heap? Immorality and stupidity are somehow connected, but here double thinking was brought to the level of Dostoevsky’s novels. Sometimes my thought drifted to an easy explanation of schizophrenia, but I knew that was too simple and easy to be true, and was rather my own defensive reaction. It also occurred to me that this was like some kind of hereditary role of a black-robed priest in an unchanging Russian society, which is really so much like an anthill – a role that had been dormant in her character until it was in demand, and then manifested itself.
In 2022, I will understand that the disgust and horror from this conversation came from the fact which I had subconsciously known already then: that this infection is not delirium in a confused head of just one schizophrenic. This is a plague that will find fertile soil. That you don't know who is next to you - a normal person, or a victim of the cult. I talked to one plague-stricken person out of many, not knowing how fast their numbers are growing. And then those who once seemed freaks to us turned out to be the fundament of a new society when it suddenly overturned like an iceberg in February 2022.
Also in 2022, already into the fourth month since the beginning of the war, I will watch the documentary "Connection disrupted" by the Russian journalist Andrey Loshak – it was filmed about the families were split into irreconcilable sides. One of the episodes explains that many people infected by Russian propaganda behave exactly like victims of a cult, and that to cure them from this plague one has to use the techniques designed for working with cult victims. But Tanya was not driven into a cult by some evel hand. She is one of those many Russians, who, out of an unknown need, were looking for lies on their own accord…
We have no relatives in Ukraine. But on the fourth day my wife suddenly remembered about Yulia.
That was two and a half years ago. At our daughter's school, there was an exchange with schoolchildren from Kyiv, which was organized by the math teachers (they are from Kharkiv, but have been living and teaching in Germany for a long time). At that time, a group of high school students from the Kyiv Maths Lyceum came to Anna's boarding school for two weeks, and for the weekend they taken by families, and one of them, Yulia, stayed with us. We even managed to take her to the Alps. Two months later, a group of our schoolchildren visited Kyiv, so Anna stayed there in Yulia’s family. We had exchanged a few phone calles with Yulia's mother during that time.
My wife immediately began to look for her phone number, found it, and tried to get through to her for two days, but the number was unavailable. On the third day, at some point, beeps went off, and Yulia's mother finally answered. There had been no connection, because they were in a bomb shelter. It was difficult to hear each other, there were noises on the line - it seemed that she was still underground. She said that the city was being bombed, it was dangerous on the streets, and that Yulia had left Kyiv three days ago and should now be somewhere near the border with Poland. The rest of the family – her parents and her brother – stayed in Kyiv, but decided that Yulia had to leave. She is travelling by bus, and the closer to the border the slower, as there are huge queues at the border. She has nowhere to live, her friend is going to someone in Italy, and Yulia is so far just sticking to her friend. My wife immediately said that Yulia could go to us if she did not find a place in Italy, let her get here by train, we would receive her.
It was difficult for them to talk because of the noises on the line, but Yulia's mother still wanted to explain something else. "We are not fascists," she repeated in a weeping voice. "Believe me, we are not fascists!" What could we answer? We knew exactly who the fascists were. My wife tried to calm her down and assure her that Yulia would be fine, we would help her if necessary.
Then we could contact Julia directly. The next day she had already crossed the border, and things went faster - she was already traveling by bus in Slovakia, and by morning she would be in Italy. They are going somewhere in Veneto, and will arrive tomorrow morning. The housing situation is not clear. She goes there with her friend, but the receiving family are unlikely to have room for two.
And then we seemed to wake up. We can finally do something. It is clear that Yulia will have nowhere to stay in Italy, and that she would almost certainly need to come to us. We must prepare a room for her.
We bought this apartment two years ago, and it is still not quite comfortable here. It is fine for us, we are very slow with renovations and such stuff. But Yulia will arrive tired, she will need a place for her things, there should be as little inconvenience as possible. It was a Saturday morning, and the two of us set to work with a kind of frenzy, as if our lives depended on our energy... The lock in the bathroom does not work - I started with that. Then I hung another towel rail there. My wife sorted some of the things from Anna’s wardrobe to other places - Yulia will live in Anna's room. We collected old children's things into a large suitcase on wheels, which I took to the cellar, at the same time taking a jar of machine oil from there to lubricate a creaking door. Somehow we found a place for all the cardboard boxes and things that had been lying or standing on the floor since the day we moved. We washed the whole apartment. I went down to the basement again and put things in order there as well, in case something else needed to be moved there quickly. We worked like this until three o'clock, and we could not stop – and what should we do when we stopped?..
And Yulia arrived. The next day, tired, sad and confused. And she settled in Anna's room. She lived with us for two weeks, and then moved to Anna's boarding school. Anna's math teachers gathered about 20 children from Kyiv there (some with their mothers), found them a place at the boarding school, helped them to register as refugees, and organized classes for them. Until the end of the school year, Yulia came to us for weekends together with Anna, and stayed in her room.
In summer, Yulia decided to stay in Germany for another year, found some training courses and moved to another city. But in the autumn she once stopped by the old boarding school to see her friends, and through Anna she gave us a jar of honey from Ukraine and a box of chocolates "The evening Kyiv" (this was brought to her by her mother when she visited had her in summer). We ate the chocolates in the course of two evenings, but did not throw away the box. We put it into our new cupboard in the living room. It will always be there.
April – July. Refugees
On March 17th, we arrived at Basel Station (Basel Badischer Bahnhof) to meet our daughter. Rumor had it that they'd set up some sort of room for refugees from Ukraine—just on the platform we needed to reach, where long-distance trains arrived. As luck would have it, we arrived a little early, went over, and popped in. In the dimly lit corridor, we were met by an attendant who asked what we needed. And suddenly, it became clear to us what was to come. For the next two months, that room on Platform 3 became the center of our lives. The very next evening, we went there to greet arriving passengers, help them settle in, explain local rules, escort them to the refugee reception center, or help them with tickets to their next destination. A few days later, I decided to keep these notes.
The refugee room at the station was voluntarily set up by Deutsche Bahn employees—they cleared out some storage space, found forty folding beds, and set up two tables and a few chairs. They also brought hot water from the control room and somehow negotiated with the station supermarket for free bread deliveries. People were allowed to spend one night in the hall, after which they had to either go to the local refugee reception center or continue on. Because the next night, the hall would fill up with new refugees. And our first task was explaining these rules to the confused, tired people who had arrived at this station from Berlin in the evening and didn't speak a word of German.
When we first entered this hall as volunteers, there were already about fifteen people there, half of them children. Three or four families. Almost every family had pets—I think there were two cats, and one had a rat in a cage. Some had already settled into camp beds, others were sitting at the table. Large bags, lots of things. Some were confused, others had already settled in. It was late evening, and people were talking in hushed tones. A little girl was crying softly—her ear hurt. We talk to each family in turn, explaining the rules and asking where they're heading tomorrow. We tell the Deutsche Bahn attendant about the girl, and he brings a first aid kit. Then we explain to the attendant who's going where next – he writes it down so he can print out the schedule for them later. Then he runs in again – a train is approaching, and we should spread out along the platform. This was very necessary, as it later turned out, because Basel has two train stations, and many refugees got them confused...
This hall, with its dim lighting and sparse furnishings, soon became familiar to us and even cozier. One of the volunteers brought two cribs (I remember how we rushed to pack them with Christian, the shift supervisor; later, throughout April, both were often occupied). A few toys appeared, even a scooter, and someone thought to bring pencils and paper for drawing. After that, drawings began to appear, and not just children's – they were hung on one of the walls. I always spent a long time staring at one of them – a drawing of a church with golden domes and the inscription in a child's handwriting, "Chernihiv – my love."
Then, one autumn, long after the hall had closed, we still came to the station to pick up our daughter. Always in the evening, on the same platform. And it was precisely in the autumn, when it was already dark, that we were overcome by those sensations that were etched in our memories of that spring. We recognized the smell, and it seemed to us that we were about to enter the dimly lit hall – perhaps someone had already arrived...
There were about fifteen volunteers like us, almost all Russian. Almost all the refugees spoke Russian to us, and most also spoke Russian among themselves. In March and April, there were many refugees (up to forty per night), and there was not enough of us to handle so many. We organized shifts and somehow managed. In mid-April, the flow dwindled, and in May it began to subside. But people were still arriving in July. The hall was closed on July 31st.
Many of the refugees were not just able to talk to us, but needed to be talked to, not just given a printed schedule. They had all experienced extreme stress, and it's hard to imagine how lonely and lost they felt, having left their homes, traveled halfway across Europe, and arrived here. If there was time, conversations almost always began. I've transcribed these conversations in a condensed form.
Dnipropetrovsk region, four people, including two children. March 18th.
They say that during the first week, only military facilities were bombed. From the second week on, the shelling became indiscriminate, and it became dangerous to stay in their area.
They traveled through an area where fighting had raged and the Russian army had been pushed back. They saw burned-out equipment and numerous corpses of Russian soldiers—no one was removing them. The Ukrainians offered the Russian army to take the bodies, but there was no response. It's been very cold, but a thaw will soon set in, and these bodies will begin to rot...
Kharkiv, four people, including two children. March 18.
One child is disabled (deaf), which is probably why the father was able to leave the country with his family.
They waited until the last minute, but the car had been loaded and fueled. They left immediately when they learned that a shell had hit their relatives' apartment.
The man was surprised that Russians were welcoming them and helping them in Europe. He said his father lived in Saratov (Russia), and he'd stopped talking to him. They spoke on the phone the very first day, and his father said, "Just be patient, son, our people will liberate you soon." When, a few days later, the son told his father that the city was being bombed, people were dying in the streets, and that it was becoming dangerous for them to stay in Kharkiv, his father simply didn't want to listen and replied, "You've been listening to too much Bandera propaganda there." Or, "Well, maybe your own troops are bombing you." Well, now they've been liberated. From their homes, from their hometown, and from a normal life. Now they're spending the night at the train station in Basel.
I remembered being in Kharkiv, a long time ago. I said it was a beautiful city. They said it had become "four times more beautiful" in recent years. And what a zoo it has! What will happen to this zoo now? The city has suffered extensive destruction, especially on the northern outskirts, and its fate is unknown.
Kyiv Oblast, three people, including one child. March 18.
The family is heading to Nantes, in western France. We ask why they're heading there. It turns out they're from Bucha, a suburb of Kyiv that was occupied by Russians in the very first days. At that point, it wasn't yet clear that Kyiv would be held; we had been looking at the battle map every day and saw that the armored pincers around the city had only just stopped their inexorable closing; we saw photographs of razed and burned Russian armored vehicles from Bucha itself; and we understood the unimaginably terrible situation they were fleeing from. The fate of all of Ukraine was being decided there, but we didn't yet know what the Russian troops would leave behind. So, this family moved to the Kyiv region in 2015 from the Donetsk Oblast, when fighting was raging there. They thought they managed to flee from the war, but seven years later they found themselves in its epicenter... They left immediately, while it was still possible, and this time decided to travel as far as possible. To Nantes.
Dnipropetrovsk region, three people, including two children. March 20.
A woman with two children. They arrived late, and the woman looks exhausted; they're heading to Bern tomorrow, and someone will meet them there. We tell them that Bern isn't far, and trains run frequently, and in Switzerland, they don't even need a ticket — for now just showing a Ukrainian passport is enough. This means they can rest as long as they want, sleep until nine in the morning, and tomorrow they'll be put on the right train. No, the woman wants to leave as early as possible, at six in the morning. Her gaze is distracted, she can barely stand, but she must continue on as soon as the trains start running.
We finally sat them down at the table to eat something hot, and in the conversation it turned out that the woman has not two children, but three. Her eldest daughter recently turned 18 and just got married. She didn't want to leave, so she stayed with her husband in Dnipro. And now her eldest daughter is there. In danger, possibly under fire. And they are here. And this woman must take her younger children to the place where they will be met. And we understand that she won't stop until she gets there. It would be good if she could get an hour's sleep...
Kharkiv, four people, including two children. March 20.
This energetic woman (a mother of two) spoke vividly and in detail. The day before, on February 23rd, they had traditionally celebrated the Soviet Army Day and stayed up with a friend past midnight. They only managed to get about three hours of sleep — early in the morning they were awakened by the roar of planes flying very low over the houses, and they couldn't figure out what it was... some kind of parade? An exercise? After a while, they began to hear the sounds of distant explosions. The first few days only military objects were targeted, but in the last days of February the Russian army began entering the city in armored vehicles, and gunfire could be heard in the streets. Into the second week (following the deliberate missile strike on the Kharkiv city administration building, which killed 20 people), the bombing became indiscriminate and ubiquitous. Air raid sirens began to sound throughout the city; during the raids the residents retreated to the basement of their apartment building. The next stage was that they practically moved to the basement, leaving it only when necessary — for water and food, or to cook. One day, this woman had cooked borsch (Ukrainian beet soup) and was carrying a large pot to the basement. As she left the building, there was a whistle and the roar of a shell exploding nearby; she spilled borsch all over herself and dropped the pot in the snow. She ran into the basement, covered in borsch, her coat red in front. The children, seeing her, cried, "Mom, what's wrong?" "Nothing, it's just borsch..."
She said that residents were preparing Molotov cocktails for the territorial defense. This was also done in basements; men would bring canisters of gasoline and motor oil, and women would find bottles, do the right mixture and pour into bottles. Funnily there weren't enough bottles; she remembers finding a souvenir bottle decorated with some roses, left over from some holiday, and filling it with the cocktail herself.
She also witnessed death – a young man was shot dead in the street by a round from an armored personnel carrier before her eyes.
They left the city when they though it became mortally dangerous to stay in their district.
Sumy Oblast, 14 people, including 9 children. March 24.
We were warned that a large Gipsy family with a bunch of children would be arriving and that we would need to help them get off the train so they wouldn't miss the station, lose anyone, and unload everything quickly. I don't remember how we figured out the right carriage (by this time we developed a good instinct of spreading cleverly along the platform) - anyhow when the train stopped, I was at the right door, and a throng of screaming, shouting Gipsy children of all ages descended upon me. No matter how hard I tried to restore some semblance of order, their bags, suitcases, and a stroller blocked the entire platform, and someone rushing to catch the train angrily asked us to move aside. However, we did not lose anyone nor left anything, and I led this group into our hall. There, the chaos continued. Although the older children they were helping to carry the luggage, they immediately scattered throughout the still-empty hall together with the smaller ones as soon as we entered (and we knew there would be at least ten more people on the next train, and we couldn't just occupy the bunks randomly – certain order was needed). Two younger children, carried by women, were screaming, sometimes taking turns, sometimes together. One boy discovered a scooter in the hall and started riding it, then rode up to me and asked if he could take it with him.
It wasn't immediately, but gradually, that some kind of order began to crystallize out of this. It turned out to be three families (one woman with four children, another with three, a third with two, and two grandmothers). The mother of four was completely exhausted; her one-year-old couldn't calm down and was screaming, and the woman was starting to snap at her. The oldest girl, a teenager, also looked very tired, as if she hadn't slept in a long time — it was clear from first glance that she had been helping with the younger children during the journey. But the others were holding up well. We placed the boys and their grandmothers in a separate room with six bunks, made up a crib for one of the younger children, and gradually placed the plump Izabella in Natasha's arms, where she began to calm down. The boys were reluctant to retreat into to their room, but suddenly one of the grandmothers told them to go to bed, and went with them, and it became quiet.
Over tea, we talked with the women a little. They were from the countryside and lived in their own houses. When Russian armored vehicles entered the village, they hid in the basement of one of the houses. They periodically heard gunfire and explosions, and were very afraid of the Russian soldiers. They said they stayed in the basement for two weeks, "thinking the children's socks would stick to their toes." As soon as the troops withdrew from their village, they evacuated their area and left the country.
Kharkiv, six people, including three children. March 25th.
They say that during the first week, only military targets were bombed. From the first day, they constantly hear the airplanes, and sometimes distant explosions. From the second week, rockets and shells began to hit residential areas, and the frequency of such attacks increased with each passing day.
They had become accustomed to the sounds of flying planes and rockets. Already in Germany, their little girl, sitting by the window on a train, was terrified by the sound of an oncoming train.
When asked, "Can they take Kharkiv anytime soon?" the elderly woman replied firmly, "No. Our forces have pushed them back and are holding the line."
Nikolaev, sister and brother. Late March.
I wasn't on duty that day, so I'm writing from my wife's account. The girl was about 20 years old, her brother was 17. Her parents remained in Ukraine, sending their children to Europe. My wife was struck by the boy's maturity and intelligence. He studied at some mathematical school, but they talked about the war. This boy said it was scary that so many people were dying. It's impossible to understand how, in the 21st century, people could come to a foreign country with weapons and kill other people in order to take it over. Yes, Ukraine must defend itself, yes, they're being promised weapons for defense—but that means a continuation of the war and new casualties, far greater than the current toll. When asked what to do, he said, "I don't have an answer."
Kryvyi Rih, a lonely old man. Late March.
Someone in the volunteer’s chat warned in advance that a very old man with limited mobility was about to arrive from the main station to ours. We should meet him right from the train car and help him to our lounge. Generally, when elderly or disabled people arrived, volunteers from the previous transfer would warn us to be prepared in advance—they would hand them over, as it were, and often ask us to confirm that the person had arrived and been accepted. But this time, there was a special attention—even the Deutsche Bahn employees already knew about this old man. I went to meet him on platform 7, preparing to carry both his luggage and himself. The granddad was indeed moving with difficulty, taking short steps; he looked extremely tired, but was still holding up well. He only had a wheeled bag, and I carefully moved with him to our room on platform 3.
After they fed him and gave him tea, and he lay down on his camp bed to rest, he was asked where he was planning to go next. "I want to go to Cannes," he said in a weak but confident voice. Why Cannes? He replied that it had always been his dream to go to Cannes.
Everyone took this very seriously. The Deutsche Bahn staff plotted out a route for him from Basel to Cannes, taking into account transfers and rest times. One of the volunteers started calling friends living in the south of France and found a volunteer network there.
Two days later, we learned that our granddad had made it to Cannes. His dream had come true—at the age of 80.
Luhansk Oblast, two women. April 6.
We'd been told in advance that one of the women had cancer and was feeling unwell. The other woman was her friend. We met them and brought them to our overnight accommodations. She was breathing heavily, wheezing. It turned out she'd been diagnosed with throat cancer a month ago. The tumor was growing steadily, and she could only eat liquid stuff, but you can't always get liquid food on trains. After a slice of pizza things got worse, and by now she was having trouble breathing, and quite agitated. We told the Deutsche Bahn employee on duty. The man on duty was Timo, and that was lucky. He immediately became serious, said he was a certified rescuer, and that as a rescuer he didn't like this situation at all. Of course, the woman had no health insurance, but this could be a matter of life and death. After thinking for three minutes, he decided to call an ambulance, and namely from the German side, from Lörrach — she had a better chance of being accepted, after all, with Deutsche Bahn calling them.
They took the call and told us that the woman should lie on her back; an ambulance was on its way. We helped her lie down and calmed her down as best we could. The ambulance arrived within 15 minutes. Two people (I don't know if they were paramedics or doctors) examined the patient, and I translated the questions and answers. Then, for some reason, they started calling their hospital, and in the end, they decided to take her not to Germany, but to the Unispital Basel. The hospital would need a translator. But they couldn't take me into the ambulance car due to coronavirus regulations. I got on my bike and followed them.
We arrived at the hospital after midnight. I had to wait a bit longer in the waiting room, but the patient was quickly wheeled away. Then I was called into a curtained hallway, which led into many small rooms crammed with diagnostic equipment. Almost every room held a gurney with a patient. A doctor met me and led me to our refugee (her name was Natasha). We agreed to speak English, because it was easier for me to understand medical terms. From the first questions of the doctor it became clear to me that he was very concerned about metastases. I translated the answers, and the doctor asked me to translate the verdict. Natasha was to stay in the hospital. That night, she would have an MRI of her upper respiratory tract and lungs. The results would be immediately forwarded to the oncologist, who would immediately decide what to do next.
I arrived home at exactly two in the morning. In the afternoon we learned from her friend that Natasha had undergone a surgery. We also learned that Natasha's five-year-old son had died in 2015... Natasha's friend didn't stay here; she returned to Ukraine. A week later, we learned from her that Natasha had metastases in her lungs, had been prescribed chemotherapy, and remained in the hospital. A month and a half later, Natasha wrote to us herself: she had been discharged, registered as a refugee, and provided with housing in Basel. She faces further treatment.
Kherson Oblast, six people, including four children. April 12.
They arrived by car. The man was allowed to leave the country with his family, as they had many children. He's a sailor, so he speaks English. I liked this family – the children are very disciplined, obedient, patient, and friendly; I remember the intelligent, calm look in the eldest girl's eyes. They were heading to Spain, where some of their friends had already settled as refugees. When leaving, they took quite a bit of risk, as they were practically driving across the front line – there was fighting on the border between the Kherson and Dnipropetrovsk Oblasts. They were allowed through at the Russian checkpoint, then continued along dirt roads, heard distant artillery fire, but managed to get through.
I told them they were the first people I'd met from the Kherson Oblast. After all, there was no shelling there; the region had been occupied without resistance. They told me it had become dangerous there now, and it was impossible to stay any longer. There was no shelling, and at first everything was peaceful. But then people started disappearing. Russian soldiers confiscate cars – if they see a good car, they stop and simply say, "Give me the keys." Someone tried to take away an Audi parked in the yard of a house belonging to some of their friends in a neighboring village, but the owner said the keys were in town. In response, they entered the house, stole all the alcohol, then retreated and fired a grenade through the window, destroying the room.
I asked why the Kherson region was surrendered without a fight. They said that, as far as they knew, the Ukrainian Armed Forces didn't have the resources to defend it – they would have been destroyed. But Russian troops have logistics problems – as they advanced, soldiers constantly asked locals for food, water, and even fuel. Once, soldiers asked for something and entered the yard – and were surprised that the private house was made of stone. A woman described this with contemptuous bewilderment: where did these "liberators" come from?
Kherson region, five people, including two children. April 19.
This family also arrived by car. They left through Crimea, passing through more than ten Russian checkpoints. During this nervous journy they kind of held behind a bus carrying refugees and arranged for the driver to say they were traveling together. At each checkpoint, Russians checked their documents and asked for cigarettes or food, but without being rude—they handed out just a couple of packs of cigarettes, and at the last one, two loaves of bread. From Crimea, they traveled to Krasnodar region, and then through all the western Russian regions north to the Latvian border. They weren't entirely sure they'd be allowed to leave Russia, but they were allowed to leave without any problems. The only difficulty was the line of cars at the border — they spent 31 hours in that queue.
The same question: why did they leave the Kherson region? (After all, there wasn't even any fighting in the left bank of Dnipro, and it had been occupied from the first days). The answer: it was becoming increasingly dangerous to stay. People were disappearing. The Russians were taking cars away from the locals. The Russians have posted guards at the cemetery in Nova Kakhovka and are not allowing locals to attend any funeral — only the funeral bus is allowed through, and the relatives of the deceased had to drop off. It's clear they're carefully concealing some mass graves, but the locals don't know whose graves. They decided it was impossible to stay, locked the house and left.
When asked why they surrendered the Kherson region without a fight, they said no one knows for sure. They suspect collusion between the regional administration and the invaders — a treason.
Finally, they recounted an episode from their journey to the Latvian border. Late one evening in the Smolensk region (Russia) they stopped for the night at a small hotel in some little town. A young girl at reception spent a long time copying down their passport information, many a time throwing them a covert look. Then she finally approached them to return their documents, and suddenly, turning specifically to the woman, she said:
"I'm really afraid to ask you, but I still want to ask… What's really going on there?"
The woman, tired from the journey, only replied:
"Well, you watch TV. It is like they tell you there - only exactly the opposite."
I cannot translate the meaning of this exchange between them. I just hope the reader will understand.
Kharkiv, two men. April 26.
Two Azerbaijani brothers with Ukrainian passports. The older one is almost 60 and disabled. They've lived in Kharkiv for over 20 years and own a bakery and some shops.
While we wait for them to open the hall where the refugees are spending the night, a conversation begins. We ask how things are in Kharkiv. They answer: "It's scary." The city is shelled every day. The shelling is unpredictable, constantly causing new destruction in residential areas.
We ask if they can take the city. No, they can't. Both answer this question confidently.
As these are the first refugees to arrive today, we have to wait a bit till the accomodation room is open. The men haven't eaten all day; as we move in, they're happy to find Rollton and some boiling water, tea, and bread. While no one else is around, we continue talking, now at the table. We ask them why Russian troops are shelling residential areas. "We're trying to figure it out for ourselves. It's as if they want as many people as possible to leave." But why? "We don't understand why. We still think they're simply taking revenge on the cities they can't take. It's a similar situation in Mykolaiv. But Kharkiv is being shelled especially heavily. With missiles, from aircraft. They can't get close by ground. They've tried many times, tanks and infantry have advanced, but the Ukrainian Armed Forces have stopped them immediately, destroying the tanks."
The brothers say there will soon be many refugees from three big cities: Kharkiv, Mykolaiv, and Kryvyi Rih. They're wondering when all of this will end. The eldest says, "It's bad that people in Russia are deceived and completely unaware of what's really happening in Ukraine. If they knew, they wouldn't have allowed this to happen. They would have stood up." I only just shake my head in response: we know perfectly well that Russians not only don't know anything — they don't want to know anything.
Both men say Russia's attack has fueled hatred among Ukrainians for years to come. For how long? For a very long time, replies the younger one. No, for 15 years, or even just 10, says the older one. You wait and see.
Lviv, one woman. May 30.
In May, the flow of refugees decreased significantly. This woman spent the night alone in our hall. We asked her why she left Lviv — it's practically safe there, and all of western Ukraine, on the contrary, is overflowing with refugees. She replied that Lviv isn't entirely safe. The city and its surrounding areas are subject to constant, though infrequent, rocket fire. Sometimes you can hear distant explosions, and sometimes you can even see a missile in flight, the air defense missiles exploding around it, leaving round white clouds in the sky, and the falling debris. Clearly, interception isn't always successful.
Furthermore, people fear that Russia is preparing to strike again from Belarus and attempt to take northern and central Ukraine. There are rumors of troops being amassed in Belarus.
But there's another reason why people are leaving even from the west. Famine could start. Russia seized much of last year's grain harvest from elevators in the southern regions of Kherson and Zaporizhzhia (including the grain for export on bulkers which were seized at sea ports). And this year's sowing was carried out as best they could... not enough fuel, not enough people, and it was unclear how much of the land would be cultivated again. So by autumn, food shortages could start. Simply put, famine.
Mariupol, an elderly couple. July 3.
There haven't been any permanent volunteers at the train station for a long time by now, as almost no new refugees arrive. But the overnight shelter is still open, and sometimes Christophe would ping us to warn that someone has arrived and needs help translating. Then one of the volunteers would respond and come to the station. That's what happened this time, and we went.
After explaining the rules and discussing their further journey tomorrow, we asked them how it is that they only just made it here, although Mariupol had long been captured. They explained that they'd left the city in April, but could not go to the Ukrainian side. So they went to Russia, and stayed with some relatives there for over two months. Then they decided they couldn't afford to depend on them forever and went to Europe, knowing they'd be granted refugee status there. Perhaps there were other reasons for this decision to leave for a foreign country, where they didn't know a single person, and without speaking the language—but they didn't mention them. The woman only said that when they arrived to their relatives, they learned from their television that they had, apparently, been "liberated."
They also described how their "liberation" had unfolded. For two weeks, they hid from bombs and shells in the basement of their apartment building. (Many said exactly this: "We spent a week in the basement," or two weeks, or even three—meaning they hid there most of the time, only going out for water, food, or to send a text message, or for other urgent matters.) On the third week, during one of the forays outside, the man saw two Russian tanks on their street nearby. There was no gunfire; apparently, the street had come under Russian control. He asked a Russian soldier what they should do. The soldier replied that the city had been partially liberated, but fighting was still going on, and that it would be best to leave the city. "Over there," he pointed, "there are buses a few blocks away. Evacuation buses. Get on a bus and go to Russia." When asked if it was possible to leave for somewhere other than Russia, the soldier replied that it was dangerous. "Yes, you can. But they'll shoot you in the back." He didn't specify who would shoot in the back... And they had sense not to ask. A day later they were in Rostov.
Bucha, an elderly couple. July 10th.
Once again, it was known in advance that two elderly people would be arriving, one of whom had difficulty walking. One of their relatives was already living in Switzerland as a refugee; Basel was their final destination, and they were planning to register there. We went to meet them at the train station.
The man, though quiet and somewhat reserved in appearance, immediately introduced himself as "Sergey" and extended his hand. He was about 60 years old, walked slowly, leaning on a cane. They seemed like a very intelligent couple – Sergey reminded me of Gosha from the film "Moscow Does Not Believe in Tears," and his wife Sveta (who looked somewhat younger) gave me an impression of a school teacher. As we walked along the platform to our hall, they said where they were coming from. From Bucha. Right from that place. And for some reason, they left only just now, when the Kyiv region and all of northern Ukraine have long been liberated from Russian troops, and many refugees were even returning.
A conversation was impending... And after we explained everything, helped them settle in, Timo brought hot water, and they sat down to drink tea, I asked. Why did they only leave now?
Sveta answered, Sergei only occasionally joining the conversation to correct or add something.
They left because their nerves could no longer withstand air raid sirens and flight of missiles. And missiles are still flying all over the Kyiv region. You can hear and see them, but it's completely impossible to predict where they'll strike, and therefore it's impossible to get used to them... You can get used to artillery duels, tank fire, even to the howl and explosions of Grad rockets — and in their time, they got used to it and adapted to it; you can tell by the sound of a specific weapon where it's hitting, whether there will be a follow-up strike, and when. But this is impossible with missiles, and they never got used to them. Furthermore, their house is located inside the Gostomel-Bucha-Irpin triangle, and when an air raid alarm sounded, the wail of sirens reached them from all three points. At some point, they made up their minds, locked the house, and left.
Then I said I couldn't help asking. Is everything that was reported about Bucha (the name that has now turned a common noun) really true? And if it's true, then why and for what purpose did Russian troops commit such atrocities there? She simply answered: Yes, it's all true.
Why did they commit atrocities and kill? Out of desperation. Because they were afraid. These Russian soldiers were mostly very young, boys, and they were afraid. They felt trapped. There was a hunted look in their eyes. Of course, they didn't shoot at everyone. Residents were dying on the streets mostly because of their cell phones. In response to my silent question, Sveta explained: the invaders were afraid of people with phones and often shot at them to kill, without warning. A person with a phone could be a spy, they could direct the enemy’s fire, they could transmit information to the Ukrainian Army. That's how people died at first — a person went outside for some reason, got a call or a text message while in the street, and pulled out their phone.
Furthermore, people died at home because of their phones. At first, no one suspected the danger posed by enabling geolocation on a smartphone. There were cases when the Russians deliberately fired a cannon at a private home. There was an explanation that their equipment would show a cluster of cell phones in a nearby house and they feared it was a unit of Ukrainian Army. And in fact, it was several people that gathered in the basement of a private home around a generator to charge their phones (there was no electricity). It was only later that people realized the danger of cell phones, learned to turn off geolocation, and generally only turned on their phones for a minute to send a text message saying, "I'm okay."
People who violated the curfew were also killed. Their neighbor died in this way — he stayed out late. No one removed the bodies, and he remained lying by the curb. The wife knew that her husband was dead. Later, when residents of several houses on their street decided to move to the school basement, they walked together with that woman and saw his body, but she was afraid to approach it.
There was also a certain guarded perimeter — a quadrangle of streets, within which, apparently, the invaders' headquarters was located. People were forbidden to approach it, but no one explained this. Some residents could have been shot just because of this.
In general, the Russians viewed the local population with extreme wariness and hostility — they were afraid of everything. Apparently, the plan communicated to them was to take Kyiv in a matter of days; they were bringing their parade uniforms, and it was a shock when their columns came under dagger fire in Bucha. The street, completely filled with wrecked and burned-out Russian equipment, was called Vokzalnaya (Train Station Street). The photos of that burnt column had then spread across the internet, casting a glimpse of hope in the pitch darkness... Sveta said that the Russians fired at the monument to Afghan soldiers for an hour, apparently having trouble to make it out clearly through their visors and thinking they were fighting a real IFV. They arrived there unprepared for resistance and for what awaited them. And what awaited them was Vokzalnaya Street in Bucha, a month of fear like that of a thief caught red-handed, and a shameful retreat with the death to all those who could not make it.
While they were sitting in the basement (first of her home, then of the school), Sveta kept a diary. Maybe we will get a chance to read it later...
The next morning, I decided to accompany Sveta and Sergey to the refugee reception center (firstly, because Sergey walks with a cane, and secondly, I wanted to make sure they'd be accepted there on Sunday). I helped them fill out the forms. When we were almost done, there was a section at the end that said "Did you take part in military operations?" and Sergey asked me to check "Yes." "Afghanistan," he explained.
April 10. Rally in Lörrach
On this day, rallies against "discrimination of the Russian population" were announced in many cities of Germany. The shameless impudence of this wording in itself served as a password for both friends and foes – it was clear for every Russian speaker that this was an action in support of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. And "oppression of the Russian population" is the term for european simpletons in the city council to issue the permission.
In Frankfurt-on-Main the trick did not quite work – the council did not allow an auto-rally, however said that the demonstrators could walk on foot. But in Lörrach, the trick for the simpletons was a complete success. And a few days before the event, the brown-yellow ribbons and Russian flags were sold cheaply in the Russian store "Siberia" - they suddenly came in store from somewhere in large quantities.
At the same time, two other rallies were announced in Lörrach: one in support of Ukraine on the outskirts of Lörrach and the other against the pro-Russian rally (and also in support of Ukraine) in the city center. For some reason, I immediately wanted to attend the rally against the rally. Someone told me that this rally was announced by the Germans – that means that at least some part of the German society is outraged by that obscenity. And if I spoke German fluently, I would even speak out there. I would say... And my thought began to revolve around what I could say if I spoke German fluently.
On Sunday, half an hour before the rally, I took my passport, got on my bicycle and rode to Lörrach. I arrived exactly at the beginning. There were about one and a half to two hundred people there - a smaller part of them were clearly Ukrainians (with flags, and I also could easily tell them apart by their faces), the bigger part consisting of the local bürgers. The organizers were adjusting the microphone, and looking at this, I realized that now I am going to the irreversible. I should not speak out – I could be filmed by some Russian patriot in the crowd. And then I am done for. But apparently the intention already matured to an irreversible stage of its own accord. I already knew what I was going to say.
The rally was opened and the floor was given to a Ukrainian girl of about fourteen years old - a refugee. She made a prepared speech in German. She thanked the Germans for helping refugees, asked to support Ukraine... I seemed to be listening, but at that moment 99% of the information came to me through my eyes – I was carefully studying the crowd. I will have to address these people. When the girl finished and the second speaker took the floor, I began to go around the crowd and make my way to the microphone. The second speaker, by the way, spoke about a pro-Russian car rally. He was talking close to what I wanted to say, but I wanted to say it in my own way. I approached the organizers, moved my passport from the backpack into my jacket pocket, and asked them if I could speak. The man and the woman looked at me anxiously. Then they said that it was possible if it was... mmm... in a positive way. They clearly feared a provocation from the Russians; I nodded and confidently replied that yes, I would speak in a positive way. They added that constructive criticism is quite acceptable... I assured them that the criticism would only be constructive. Then the previous speaker just finished. I took the microphone from him, looked around the crowd and said: “Hello”. The microphone worked. And I said:
"I apologize for the fact that my German is far from perfect. That's because I'm Russian. Yes, I am from Russia, from Moscow." Here I took a blood-red Russian passport out of my pocket and held it high.
"Of course, I am against this war. Otherwise, I wouldn't have come here. But I want to ask you not to take pictures of me. Because what I'm going to say now could put me in mortal danger."
I paused briefly. People listened. I did not experience the slightest discomfort. Anger had made the task very simple.
"Right now, as you know, there is a car rally taking place nearby, organized by my compatriots and authorized by the German authorities. Rally for what?.. Or against what?.. Against... di-skri-mination of the Russian population!" (I pronounced the word discrimination with difficulty, because it is a long word, but so it was intended).
"I am Russian and I have lived here for more than ten years. Both of my children go to German schools. And in all these years, I have not seen, heard, or felt the slightest discrimination!” Here I was interrupted by applause for the first time, the longest one. I was in no hurry.
"Then against what... is this rally??? Or what is it for?" (the word "fuck" was not pronounced, but I hope it was clearly heard). "This rally is for the invasion! It is in support of the war that Russia has unleashed against Ukraine! The Russians, who received permission for this rally, had lied, deliberately deceiving the German authorities. And now they are driving around Lörrach in their cars, waving Russian flags - demonstrating their support for the war!"
Applause.
"I know my compatriots well. And I want to say that the German authorities, unfortunately, were deceived by them. The pretext that is used to legalize this rally is absolutely false. And it shouldn't have be allowed."
Applause.
"In conclusion, I want to appeal to German citizens. All these years, Germany has been buying oil, gas, and coal from Russia. Now it has become clear that this was a huge mistake. Russia used this money to arm itself and has now attacked Ukraine. This should not happen again. Do not buy oil, gas, coal from Putin. That's all I wanted to say."
I gave up the microphone and returned to the crowd – for some reason, to the same place where I had first stood. Some German citizens spoke, but I half-listened, automatically continuing to scrutinize the crowd. There were more people now - almost the entire square was occupied. One German replaced the other at the microphone; he started talking about the fact that the German government is doing too little to stop Russian aggression. Then another one came out and began to talk about tolerance, that nothing should be banned; a bürger standing not far from me suddenly interrupted him with a shout: "What do you mean by that?" He tried to continue in the same vein, but he was interrupted again: "These are empty words! Speak to the point!" It seemed that the people who gathered here were indeed outraged by the impudence and lies of the Russians. And there are quite many of these people.
I was about to leave and started for the bicycle parking lot, when someone took me by the sleeve. An elderly German. Would I want to have a coffee? After thinking for a second, I thanked him, and we walked to the veranda on the corner of the square. His wife was sitting there at a table. David and Christine, they introduced themselves. David is a psychiatrist. He told me that he understood me well, but wanted to explain to me why the rally could not be banned. They have freedom of speech and assembly. Everyone should be able to express their opinions. I objected that Nazi demonstrations were forbidden in Germany, and in this case the Z symbol was not allowed either. He said that the stated purpose of the Russian demonstration was different – against the oppression of Russians. This goal may seem false to us, but they may genuinely consider it their goal. For example, there are demonstrations for the protection of the environment, and there are demonstrations for the protection of the economy, against excessive measures to protect against greenhouse gas emissions. People who think these measures are unnecessary are genuinely mistaken – they just don't understand the scale of the climate catastrophe – but we shouldn't silence them. I replied that this is a very good example, because uneducated people really do not understand the scale of the disaster, but that is why they have the right to speak out. However, the Russians are not mistaken with the rally - they are deliberately and cynically lying, declaring the false purpose of their gathering, and in fact they were allowed a mass march in support of the war, which is no better than a Nazi rally with torches. This conversation went on for quite a long time, and it was difficult for me to keep up to it (my German is really limited). Meanwhile, the rally ended, but some of the people remained on the square, and suddenly I saw our friend Lena. She was at the other rally with several other of our volunteers, and how came here. I was already glad to see her - Lena is a very sociable person, and speaks German much better than me. I waved my hand to her and she came up to us.
Lena really knows everyone. She and David and Christine immediately found some mutual friend, and then they remembered that they even met in person at a concert. I told her that I had made a speech here, and this is what we are discussing. Lena told us what she saw – the other two rallies started in about the same place – so she witnessed the Russian one. And Lena very vividly, in excellent German, described what impudent, mocking faces were sticking out of the cars and what they were yelling. I was not the one who needed this description – I know from childhood what kind of dirt lurks behind the orcish faces and beer-bellies of this scum. But her story made a great impression on David and Christine. In the end, David surprised me. He said that tolerance is tolerance, but in the end you just want to throw a Molotov cocktail at these cars. I even slapped him on the shoulder.
Then there were more conversations. David said about the refugees that many of them would become depressed in a month and a half to two months, and asked what to do with the translation, which psychologists and psychiatrists would inevitably need. We said that we did not know that yet, we reacted to problems as they appeared, and so far our help was limited to the duty at the train station. Then we sat with Lena and her husband Andreas – he was gloomy, because he saw the Russian rally with his own eyes. We also talked about the situation in the war - that Russia was defeated near Kyiv, and there was hope that Ukraine would survive, but Russia would now throw all its forces into the Donbass in order to completely seize it by May 9. And then I gave Andreas the phrase that crowned all my German-language statements of that day: "Es wird wie ein Sieg gefeiert, aber wie eine Niederlage erinnert." They will celebrate it as a victory, but they will remember it as a defeat. Even if there is a truce after the complete occupation of southeastern Ukraine, it will be short-lived. The Russians will wait a few years to accumulate strength, and will attack Ukraine again. They will not back down until they destroy or subdue all of the country. Because the whole point of their war is revenge. For the choice of freedom, for daring to get off the leash, for calling Putin names. And such a revenge cannot be carried out partially.
End of July. Funeral in N-sk
My mother told me that someone from her apartment block was killed in action in Ukraine and was buried yesterday. At first she did not realize that this was a funeral. In the morning, she saw from her window (of a five-story building with 4 entrances), how an unusually long black car pulled by to the first entranc. She would not have paid much attention to it, but the car turned around, and five minutes later it drove away from that entrance and pulled up right under her windows. And there it stayed for an hour. Then the car pulled back again, and my mother realized that it was a funeral – some people were standing silently at the first entrance. The coffin was carried out; it was carried by six tall men in civilian clothes. Someone else came out of the entrance, and they carried out a portrait of the deceased in a black frame - still a fairly young man with a stern look (a pilot, my mother thought for some reason). The coffin was loaded into a car and it drove away. Someone scattered dark red flowers on the path, like drops of blood.
It was an unusual funeral. In our small town, my mother had never seen a hearse based on a Mercedes - we usually have an old soviet-made bus for such purposes there... She realized that the body had been brought from somewhere far away, possibly from the regional center. They brought it here so that the family could say goodbye.
A month later, a neighbor told her mother that she knew the deceased. "A very good man, a decent man," she said. "Only the family only needed money, so he went and signed the contract." She also said that there are already six such graves at the cemetery of our small town. One for ten thousand of the population, then... And these are only those whose bodies were returned from there.
August. Birthday
It was always a difficult day. And sad. I never liked it; in addition, it so happened that for many years I celebrated this day alone, away from my family. So it was this time – I had already returned from vacation, and the family was still in Lithuania and just today was moving from Ignalina to Palanga.
Soon six months since the beginning of Russia's invasion of Ukraine - six months of a nightmare that (this is how we are made) will remain a nightmare for us until the war ends. In addition, Ukraine's Independence Day is coming soon, and at any moment something dreadful may happen in the form of a particularly brutal missile strike. So I didn't expect anything good from this birthday of mine.
At 10 o'clock in the morning, congratulations came, from which I also did not expect anything good. It came via WhatsApp from my friend from Moscow, let's call her Tanya. I have not communicated or corresponded with her since the last New Year holidays, and after the start of the war I had no desire to communicate, because I suspected that there was nothing to talk about. But below the usual congratulatory test there was a question: "How are you?" Well, since she is asking, I decided to answer. Here I present this dialogue as it was, just adding some comments.
"It is impossible to answer in a few words. Should have kept a diary for these six months. Hard to explain. Such an abyss has formed. Well, let's put it this way: did you watch episode Masyanya number 162? (St-Maruiburgh)"
There was a silence for half an hour, after which she replied, "I did."
"Well, that's how I feel from the first day six months ago. But I have never tried to argue with anyone nor explain anything to anyone."
Her answer contained no reaction to what I was trying to say. It seemed completely cold and detached: "What's the point of arguing? Are you in Europe?"
I tried to press on: "There are people who feel the same horror and anger - I feel such people immediately. Yes, I am in Europe, and we did not go to Russia on vacation."
Answer: "I see. I'm also not inclined to argue and explain something. I prefer human relations to political ones."
Me: "There is no politics in what happened. And what do you feel?
Answer: "The war of good and evil is going on constantly, now it is especially acute."
Here we go. Apparently she is alluding to the mythical Nazis in Kyev, but ever so cautiously.
Me: "Has nothing changed for you?"
Answer: "Something has changed. And what has changed for you?"
A pause. Everything is already clear to me, the person will dodge the answer, no matter how direct you try to be. But I don't like when a conversation is interrupted and left without a finishing point. And while I am writing the answer, another message comes from her – a masterpiece of cowardice and indifference:
"We have known each other for many years. Let's not quarrel. Have a good DAY!"
Me: "I'll answer directly. I don't like to interrupt a conversation. My country plunged into a fascist frenzy. People not only believed the disgusting propaganda, but were happy to believe it. The country stands ankle-deep in blood, not noticing it in its complete indifference, and will wander in waste-deep. For me, this is a huge change, life will no longer be the same as before.
A good day will come when this nightmare is over and at least people stop dying."
This wordless creature did not answer and ceased to exist for me. But an unpleasant, cold feeling remained. The cold indifference with which these people pronounce propaganda clichés has just touched me directly like clammy scales of a fish.
But there was another congratulation worth mentioning. In the evening, I called my mother, and she said: "What can I wish you? Of course, I wish you all the best, and above all health. But at a time like this... I wish you victory. To you and all of us."
News channels suddenly reported that an administrative hearing was opened against actress Kristina Asmus, on the article of “discrediting the Russian army”; she is facing a fine. This Kristina Asmus has always been a very public person, an Instagram star whose main occupation had mainly been self-promotion. The surprised journalists could find only one statement she made about the war. On February 24, she wrote one line on Instagram: "Fear and pain. Stop all this I beg."
It would seem that there is nothing to talk about. The article "On Discrediting the Russian Army" was hastily introduced in March, and it has already been used hundreds of times – against journalists, pop singers, human rights activists, several municipal deputies who dared to publicly express even a hint against the invasion, and against hundreds of people who in March still dared to take to the streets with a poster "Stop the war" or with a drawing of a dove.
But Asmus... I had thought her completely worthless. Of the actresses who starred in two or three of the most vulgar films, which in a month will be forgotten even by those who had seen them; one of those who are forced to constantly remind about themselves on Instagram. I reread this news, trying to understand - how so? Many really famous actors remained silent; others, on impulse of loyalty, or out of their natural inclinations, spoke in support of the war; but the most terrible thing is that the majority (not actors, but of people in Russia in general) perceived the invasion of Ukraine with complete indifference – nothing has changed in their lives, nothing has trembled in their souls. And she was horrified, as it turns out. "Fear and pain. Stop all this I beg."
This is a normal reaction of a Human who feels the pain of others. In the very first month, the most terrible and depressing impression of the war was how few People remained in Russia. Public figures spewed out disgusting things from Russian television screens, and when some pampered pop singer suddenly called not to persecute artists who had left Russia, we perceived this with grateful surprise and with some fear of being disappointed in this person later - so rare were the manifestations of ordinary common sense and simple humanity.
The fact that Russians for the most part are incapable of independent thinking has been known for a long time, but this is another point. As it turned out, they also have a huge problem with empathy – with an incredibly large number of people deprived of that, too; they proved to be a callous lot. Kristina Asmus turned out to be a freak in this Russian family - her compassion at that terrible moment outweighed everything, and she splashed out what she felt. A heartfelt thanks to her.
The counteroffensive of the Armed Forces of Ukraine on the right bank of the Kherson region began a week ago, but it is still difficult to understand whether it has any success. Ukrainian Army operates in an information silence mode - even the settlements which are under their 100% control are declared with a two days delay.
September 6. Many Russian news channels (including the so-called military reporter) suddenly retranslated a completely identical text:
"There is no panic. Mainly the mobilized were staying in Balakliya. Reserves are being deployed towards it now. Cannon and rocket artillery is working. Aviation is actively working."
From this so far we can only conclude that Balakliya, a small town in Kharkiv region which had been occupied by the Russian army back in March, is at the moment a theater of some serious and unexpected mess, and that mess caused panic.
September 7. By the end of the day, military reporter Kotenok (running one of the most popular Russian Z-channels) reported the following:
"A missile attack was carried out on a huge accumulation of equipment and manpower of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, which had been assembled for the assault on Balakliya. The strike was carried out by 40 Caliber missiles. The enemy suffered irreparable losses."
It should be noted here that the Caliber is an expensive product, which is designed for precise destruction of objects - not for covering squares. More than 8 "Calibers" have never been fired in a day. I tensed up for just a second, then looked at a Ukrainian website. No information from Ukrainian army. After some time, the Kotenok this post.
September 8: By the middle of the day, there were similar messages from many sources, including the same Kotenok. The bottom line: "Statements about our units being surrounded in Balakliya are lies! The withdrawal of our combat formations is carried out along a reliable corridor..."
This made it clear that there is a stampeded escape from the town. Then, in the the evening of the same day, the Armed Forces of Ukraine confirmed the capture of Balakliya.
How shall I put it?.. What kind of people are these? What motivates them to produce these awkward, shameless and useless lies? And these are precisely the people who had dreamed of this war; they are the driving force behind this terrible evil. Ukraine is defending against a huge horde of stupid armed animals.
September 9 and 10: All our attention is focused on the Kharkiv region now. Ukrainian army sparingly reports capture of individual settlements, but they do it only when they have already gained a foothold around them and are in full control. Meanwhile, it is clear that events are evolving much faster then we read about them - messages from Russian Z-military correspondents are received every hour, and they are full of disappointment and confusion. On September 9 some Ukrainian units are seen around Kupyansk, which is 30 km east of Balakliya. On the morning of September 10 it becomes clear that the Ukrainian army has taken Kupyansk, thereby cutting off the railway supply of the Russian group in Izyum; after that, the Russian reports start to repeat a word "disaster". On the afternoon of September 10, there are rumors about the withdrawal of Russian troops from Izyum; in the evening of the same day there are photos of Ukrainian soldiers at the entrance to the city. It is clear that there is a rapid, carefully planned and so far successful offensive by the Ukrainian army, aimed at liberating the Kharkiv region and destroying the Russian group in Izyum - a threat to Slavyansk and Kramatorsk from the north. It is clear that Russian troops are retreating in a hurry, abandoning equipment and ammunition, and that many soldiers are captured. With first reports of withdrawal of Russian units from Izyum, "disaster" and "collapse of the front" become keywords. And all this time, there is still no information on the official Russian news channels, as if nothing is happening at the frontline. Moscow celebrates the City Day, Putin opened a new ferris wheel... Only in the evening, the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation declares that it is “regrouping troops” in the Kharkiv region.
September 11: Outcome. In the morning, the Armed Forces of Ukraine confirm that they have occupied Izyum; Ukrainian flag is raised over the city. By the middle of the day, Ukrainian units enter Veliky Burluk, and it becomes clear that the Russian army is withdrawing from all areas of the Kharkiv region, except for the strip east of the Oskol River. Their frontline has crumbled, and the scattered military units can only be saved by swift retreat. The Izyum group does not exist anymore. In the North, the Russian troops are pushed away from Kharkiv to the state border, so they will no longer be able to shell the city with artillery. Almost the entire region has been liberated.
The attention of all Ukraine was riveted on this counteroffensive; with some delay, it was followed by all the major news agencies in the world.
But the Russian TV-viewers did not even know about it – they were only told about some “regrouping exercise”, in the end. Without Internet, they would keep their happy ignorance even longer. Only when it became clear that the Russian troops had suffered a quick and humiliating defeat did this topic creep into Russian TV channels - in the form of so called "political talk shows".
And at this point, it is of utmost important thing to see and understand the reaction of those who ignited this invasion – of the passionate bearers of absolute evil. Below I quote verbatim the text published by the same military reporter Kotenok on September 11:
"In 2014, the Donbass militia raised the flag with our Savior for a reason. Even then, wise people understood what we were facing. The Third Reich is satanism plus columns of tanks.
It seems that in 2022 the Russian Federation did not fully understand what was happening in Ukraine. The misfortune near Balakliya gave us another lesson. The Nazis and separatists will not just give up. Trying to coax them leads to deplorable results, especially since behind their backs there are always those who will constantly incite them, because the evil spirits do not tolerate Russia, the foot of the Throne of the Holy Virgin. The unclean ones cave to devour us completely.
For the success of the Russian Reconquista, it is necessary to put the economy on a MILITARY FOOTING, URGENTLY STRENGTHEN THE ARMY, bring society out of its lethargic sleep in which it simply does not notice the war as a war, destroy the "fifth column" and finally declare that Donbass, Novorossiya, Zaporozhye, Kherson, Kharkov are Russian land. And it cannot be given away.
And may the Holy Savior help us!"
I quote this text without changes, because not a single word can missed here. Yes, it causes embarrassment and disgust, but you can't turn away from it. This is how these people really think, the swill boiling in their heads, effortlessly mixing Nazis and separatists, protection of the Russian-speaking population and the Russian Reconquista, lethargic sleep and the Holy Virgin. The Ukrainians fought back and kicked their ass, and they are not ashamed to say that they were coaxing them - apparently they had showed inappropriate softness when they were razing Mariupol to the ground. There is not a single vile twist of consciousness that they would not use to justify their own cruelty and cowardice. The essence of these people is a complete lack of love and an overwhelming fear and hatred towards anything they cannot understand. And these people will never repent. Even if they are completely defeated and universally condemned, they will never have the courage and humanity to take a step back and admit that they had been wrong in some way. They will dodge the truth in the same way, to the end.
PS. On the evening of September 11, the Russian troops launched a missile attack on the biggest electric power plant in Kharkiv. The entire million-strong city and several districts of the region were left without electricity due to the damage. This was a farewell gesture of Russia, after it was thrown out of Kharkiv region. Its modus operandi is simple and predictable. This is the country and the people we know so well.
Connection discupted
Not all of this happened in October. We hit a dead wall from the very beginning.
I remember that in the first days of the war, I had no desire to communicate with anyone in Russia. My mother was as horrified as I was, but we spoke sparingly and somehow quietly. There is nothing to talk about when people are dying, and Ukraine is defending itself with the last of its strength, but will fall; we all were reading the news helplessly, but we could not do anything. As for my acquaintances and former colleagues in Russia, I realized that I could stumble upon support for the war or just indifference from anyone, and felt reluctant to open this minefield.
My wife called her mother immediately, on the morning of February 24. It was a completely natural impulse, she called in horror at what was happening - but no miracle happen. The mother-in-law was completely calm. The conversation did not end well. Three days later they talked again, and then my wife asked her mother directly - how can she support all this? In response she heard the same stale mantra about the “Nazies” who oppress the peaceful Donbass. It became clear that the mother-in-law did not know much about what was really happening - except for what was repeated on TV. My wife then said: "Turn off the TV" and hung up. Next she called her mother a couple of days later – after the missile strikes which ruined the the city administration buildings of Nikolaev and Kharkiv, killing dozens of people inside – those strikes were the response to the resistance of the Ukrainian army, and marked the point when the invasion reached its cruise level of cruelty. She made another attempt to talk, and this time there was some uncertainty in her mother’s tone - but it quickly became obvious that this was simply due to the sharp increase of prices in Russia. And then my mother-in-law gave her daughter literally this: "I so much wanted a peaceful sky for you! But they did not come to the negotiations!" My wife hung up in disgust. This communication finally came to a halt a week later - she tried to convince her mother to watch an interview with either Boris Akunin or Harry Bardin, but that was casting pearls before swine - the conversation ended with mother-in-law saying: "Well, now it's clear who is at which side." After that, the talks stopped until summer.
Summer... We always spent all the summer holidays at my mother-in-law's country house. Other options were never considered: in summer we returned HOME. Our children grew up there. Our river remembers us. This is our beginning, the source of the most important experiences and memories – for in one month and a half THERE we emotionally experienced more than in the rest of the year... We got there even in the midst of the covid pandemic, by very exotic routes (twice through Belarus, crossing the border on roads not marked on any map); we were prepared to overcome any difficulties to come home for holidays.
But in the summer of 2022 we could not go there. There were long discussions, arguments, there were desperate exclamations "But how can we not go?!" But we would not be able to pretend that nothing had happened, we could not start the day with a breakfast on the terrace and then just go on, as if there were no bodies in the cupboard – being there as before has became impossible. My wife also has a sister, but we did not even try to talk to her after February – she is a suggestible hysterical radical, an enthusiastic patriot; there had already been some very unpleasant moments with her - but now the presence of an outright fascist under the same roof with us was impossible. There are also neighbors who have grandchildren who are the same age as our children; good decent people dreaming about Stalin... We spent the summer holidays of 2022 in Lithuania - and thank God, we liked it there.
This is our story of The February which dragged on throughout the summer. But we heard many similar stories from friends and acquaintances, and some were worse than ours. Here are a few:
Sveta, lives with her husband and children in Zurich. In the very first days she called my brother, who lives in the Kaliningrad region. She did not even try to argue with him about the war – during the first couple of weeks there was panic on the consumer market in Russia, people tried to buy currency and stock up on anything, which was followed by a sharp surge of prices - so she simply advised him to stock up on food and medicine. She did not expect such a reaction at all: her brother rudely replied to her that he should make supplies herself, it is you who will soon be in shit, there is no panic in Russia, everything is going according to plan. They didn't talk anymore.
Masha, a student, is one of those volunteers who helped the refugees here. Her mom is somewhere in the Vologda region. Masha, let's say, did not restrain herself speaking out about the war on social networks. It turned out that her mother's fellow villagers read her Facebook, and at some point her mother was asked in the village store: "Your lass writing all this?" And then they refused to sell to her.
Alla, a local Russian-speaking teacher, works with Russian children (like she has a small private school, and our kids once went to her classes). The lady is not simple, somewhat domineering, she is more of a director than a teacher. We had not communicated with her for a long time, and suddenly we learned from friends that in May Alla wanted to go to Russia, but cancelled the plan because she quarreled with her relatives. To our surprise, she was against the invasion. And, apparently she was not shy in expressing that when speaking with her mother. As a result, her mother told her, "If you show up here, I'll call the police to put you in jail."
And so, during the first months, if I had to talk on business with anyone in Russia, I avoided talking about the war (at any rate, I avoided a serious conversation, unless I was asked directly). And so it turned out that for me personally the denouement came only in October.
This was due to the turning point in the war. After being defeated in Kharkiv region, in early October, Russia hastily announced the annexation of all the territories occupied up to that moment. They held a shameful show of referendums in a couple days - as they like it - and declared those lands Russian. Ukraine was not going to stop though, it was pressing on to the still occupied Kherson, and for the first time there was a risk that the war would become nuclear. Under the pretext of an attack on the now allegedly Russian territories, Russia could launch tactical nuclear strikes on the positions of the Ukrainian army. That would have been a terrible act in itself, but would also trigger the risk of a global nuclear catastrophe (and although it didn't materialise, it was from that moment that Russia's brutality and cynicism really reached a new level never seen before). So at that moment it seemed to us that this was a new level – at which the support for the war, indifference or misunderstanding would become even less forgivable (as if what had already happened could somehow be forgiven...) And so my wife wrote to her mother. It is hard to reproduce this short correspondence, but I provide it below with some abbreviations.
- "Mom, you wrote to me a few months ago that there would be changes for the better and clarity in events. What did you mean? Clarity came, changes took place. Did you mean these improvements? Or some others - then which? I just want to understand."
- "No, I wrote about other changes. None of my entourage could have imagined that we would have to fight the whole world just because Russia came to the aid of people who had lived under the oppression of the Nazis for eight years. If Russia had not taken the first step, then this step would have been taken by the other side. Russia has been patient for too long on all fronts, including sports, the anthem, the flag, etc. Of course, no one wants war, but everything happened as it happened. And nothing good awaits us. This is clear. And I do not think we should talk about this, seeing your position and mood. Am I still your mother, or have you already renounced all of us and consider me, your sister and those with us as your enemies? It's very sad."
- "I could answer many things, but I won't. I don't see any more point in arguing further. I will only say that you had a chance to remain a human being, just as my mother-in-law and many of our other acquaintances in Russia remained human, and you missed that chance. You exchanged your daughter and granddaughters for TV, lies and cowardice. It was not me who disowned you, but you who disowned us. Putin smeared Russia with blood, and this blood is on you too. And you are not our enemies. Being our enemy is a privilege you can't have."
- "I did not disown anyone. And I can't imagine how you're going to get out of all this. It's a pity that you deprived your daughters of their homeland. Time will tell who is who."
- "My daughters have seen the bestial grin of their homeland and are coping with it. And they have a home. Time has already shown everything, you just need to take your head out of the sand."
A few days later, my mother-in-law called me. I was pretty sure he would. She didn't understand a thing, and I expected her to ask if her daughter was OK with her head. And so it happened.
But I was not inclined to be the good cop... I immediately said that my wife and I were both of us not OK with our heads. The point is – (perhaps here I made a pause, like a patient making a shameful confession to the doctor) – the point is that we feel the pain of other people. When we see people who are homeless, we feel sorry for them. When we see families with old people and children who had to hide from Russian bombs in basements, then escaped mortal danger leaving everything they had, and are now spending the night at a train station in a foreign country – we feel sorry for them, we try to help them, we ask them what happened – and we can't help ourselves at all. We understand that this is not customary among Russians. Apparently, we are degenerates.
It was impossible to convey the conversation further – very hard to remember it. Anger gradually rose up in me, and I began a kind of sarcastic interrogation. But it brought no fruit. Trying to catch my mother-in-law into a mental trap was like trying to catch a hare winding through the forest (that is why it was so hard to remember afterwards). She somehow managed to dodge even the need to answer. Only one episode remained in my memory: this is when, making excuses for the war, she said that Ukrainians are a vile and corrupt people. To this, I made an important statement at the very end of our conversation: I reminded her that two of her granddaughter's teachers (and the best teachers too) are Ukrainians. I also told her that their school had accomodated about 20 children from Kyiv (some with their mothers) - which Anna was very happy about, she had more fun and was now friends with two Ukrainian girls. And I said that I would pass her the words of her grandmother (who had never even been to Ukraine), the words about the "vile and corrupt Ukrainian people." And I really did that.
After that, I stopped avoiding the topic of war in the few contacts I still have in Russia. As a result, in the course of one week in October, three conversations happened one after the other, which I decided to record as well.
Conversation with a classmate
He called to ask something about computer parts – how to order them in Germany.
When asked how it was with us, I replied that everything was as usual, the children were at school, we were not sick. When asked how they were doing, he replied that everything was as usual, but you know it yourself. They are waiting for drafting letters. His son had only recently finished the conscript service, so he is the first category for mobilization. Although he has a naval specialty, and the need is more for the land ones, they could still draft him.
To my half-mute question about what they were going to do about it, he replied, "Nothing. He will go to serve. And then I'll go too. As a volunteer."
I said that this was an unjust and dangerous deed. It felt as if he were waiting for these words, as if he knew what I was going to say. His tone immediately changed. He said that it was not worth continuing the conversation so as not to quarrel, but this was already by inertia. The tone was such that I immediately realized that I was not one of theirs – I was alien. But I did not intend to retreat. I wanted to know what he thought about the recent missile strikes, including the one on the residential buildings in Zaporizhzhia.
I was ready for a lunge. In response to him saying that I almost ceased to be a Russian, and therefore what could I understand in this war, I retorted that I get information by reading the Russian military reporters (a surprised chuckle) and that when they write "There is no panic near Balakliya", it is clear to me that there is panic near Balakliya. Then he finally understood who he was dealing with. He reacts very quickly - a former cop.
I told him that when someone was attacked and killed, I would always be on the side of the victim. This made no impression on him. He became more and more aggressive and rude, repeating in various ways that almost all of Europe had fallen under America. (That America is the main enemy was implied without words; even though he had never seen a living American or European in his life, and had never even been to Moscow – he knew his stuff. If TV had said that Europe had fallen under aliens from Nibiru, he would have repeated this with the same agression of a hunting dog set on a fox. He spoke without a shade of a doubt, as if he had been waiting all his life to be told who the enemy was, and now he knew, and it's time to act.) I tried to argue that it is not America that is now bombing Ukraine and killing people there. But I was not ready for his answer to this. He replied that all these photos of the killed, all these videos of destroyed houses are the work of Ukrainian propaganda, that all these are fakes, there is a whole Hollywood sitting and dumping therabytes of fake videos on the Internet every day. But his clenched-teeth tone behind these words left no room for doubt – enemies must be destroyed without hesitation, and if necessary, the whole of Ukraine should be turned into dust... I don't remember all the details of the conversation, but I clearly remember the terrible feeling that I was a potential target for him. The person with whom I was friends at school and communicated for a long time afterwards has now in a course of one minute identified me as an enemy, and I felt his hatred.
This conversation threw me off balance. A terrible feeling, as if a double-barreled shotgun is aimed at you, and behind the sight you see the squinted eye of a person who just knows what to do with you. Those who heard this from close relatives must have felt even worse... I walked from corner to corner and decided to call another friend of mine. Right now. It seemed to me that at least one of them should say: yes, I am horrified by yesterday's shelling of Zaporozhye, I know that civilians were killed, this is too much, we were deceived, this cannot go on…
A conversation with an old acquaintance
This is a completely different person - decent, and, in my opinion, not aggressive at all. He is an entrepreneur, and by his nature and way of life he should be able to negotiate, not fight. And so, literally 10 minutes after the previous conversation, I called this Volodya.
It turned out that he had just arrived from Georgia, where he had gone on vacation for a week, and so the conversation began with what he had seen at the border. They were not lucky with the road - he got just into that flow of people fleeing from mobilization that had poured into Georgia, lost a lot of time on the border in both directions and got there and back with great adventures. And I immediately realized that my hopes were busted. He had seen those huge crowds himself - queuing in front of the checkpoint, thousands of people on bicycles, hundreds of abandoned cars - and he spoke of those people with contempt and condemnation, as of deserters; and the words he used were not his own - he spoke in those propaganda clichés. He did not have a shade of suspicion that these people might not want to shoot at Ukrainians and did not want to be killed, and that such a flight was the only right decision for them. I only told him that if Russia had been attacked, then perhaps all these people would not have fled anywhere, but would have calmly waited for drafting letters. He was a little surprised by such an unexpected turn of thought - it had not occurred to him (or rather, as I understand now, this option was not discussed in any TV program). But he did not show a slightest embarrassment.
I started talking about the war. I said right away that I just had an unpleasant conversation with a classmate, and felt very bad after this. I mentioned the recent missile attacks with civilian casualties. And then I asked him, how can this be excused? But the answer was standard. "The fascists had bombed Donbass for eight years." There is the Alley of Angels. Thousands of civilians had died in the Donbas. Russia could not stand aside. A dead end... A person does not question the information that was used as a pretext for starting a full-scale war... and for him this information fully justifies massive missile strikes throughout Ukraine, carpet bombing of Mariupol and a hundred times greater casualties (that is, if we take "bombed Donbass" as the pure truth). The person has problems with basics of law and maths…
Then I tried to use a new tactic. I listened to him, agreed with him on something, and then put forward my arguments. But there was a feeling that all this was in vain, like a one-way game - he listened to my consent warily, but in return he did not move a single step. He was just beginning to pour out very specific, concrete examples – as a child would do. He took a long time to tell me a family story, how his grandfather ended up in Stalin's camps because he was denounced by a person with whom he worked - allegedly a by follower of Bandera. And now the teachings of Bandera have spread in Ukraine to the point that Russia has no choice but war. He gave many very concrete examples (most of them not even coming from personal experience, but gleaned from some pro-Russian internet pages), and all of them were just as childish and inappropriate in adult conversation. When I started talking about the people killed in Bucha, his counterargument was as follows: "You are a Russian person. And I am a Russian person. Well, are we really going to shoot at civilians?" (That is, it is only non-Russians who can kill civilians; Russians cannot, by definition, which means that this did not happen).
Here, for the sake of justice, an important remark should be made: this Volodya really would not shoot at civilians. I don't think he would, even if he had been ordered to, he would rather have tried to reason with the commander (and, feeling this, the commander would hardly have given him such an order). That's why I called him and not someone else.
But this conversation ended in my complete defeat. It went on for a very long time, because it was incoheren, his concrete examples of his vision leaving no possibility to draw any conclusion. (Coming back to it later I realize that at that time I had not yet leanrt how incompatible, contradictory ideas can easily coexist in some people’s minds.) Sometimes ny interlocutor suddenly broke out of the impasse, abruptly changing the subject and jumping from one thing to another... But there were very characteristic statements that I remembered. For example, at some point he suddenly declared: "Well, why did this idiot, Zelensky, tease the Russian bear for eight years, tried to poke him with a stick?" This seemingly childish stupidity contains both an excude and a feeling of involvement in a great power: "It's not us... The Russian bear is terrible in anger... Whoever teased is to blame for everything..." And once the tone of the conversation suddenly changed when I made one important mistake. Suddenly, unrelated to the previous arguments, Volodya declared that Putin had played a brilliant game, each time raising the the stakes with NATO when his previous demands were not met (apparently this is one of the propaganda myths fed to people there). Such stupidity forced me to respond a bit sharply that Putin’s gangster-style show-offs had only led to the expansion of NATO - now Sweden and Finland are joining it. It turned out that this was exactly what you should not say... the soft-spoken and usually polite man burst into foul street language, directing it at Prime Minister of Finland (Sanna Marin). I did not expect this, and I was disgusted by such language towards a woman... We talked for a while, both trying to lower the temperature - but it became completely impossible to keep a meaningful conversation. At last someone called him, and he said that he was always pleased to talk to me, but now it was time for him to go...
This conversation did not improve my spirits at all, but I had do concede that was necessary. I finally went through what most of us went through at the very beginning of the war - a fierce argument with a long-time acquaintance (or even a loved one) and the realization that it was completely impossible to sober up a plagued person. There are no means for this. The illusion that one of them would suddenly wake up and shout "Stop the war!" disappeared.
However I still could not understand how this was possible. For weeks, I have been brooding about these horrible conversations, often at a wrong time. I could stop in the middle of the street and stand, going over some episode, talking to myself. I struggled to understand the mechanism, the original source of the insanity, that had made millions of people deaf and blind. It did occur to me that if you had told these people a year ago that they would justify missile strikes on Ukraine's energy infrastructure (and even gloat over them), they would not have believed that. But I could not understand what process can twist a human mind like this.
Although the observations are fairly simple. All these conversations follow the same pattern: a plagued person cannot move an inch from the point of view imposed onto him by propaganda. That viewpoint is somehow critically valuable to them, so much valuable, that trying to move them away from it only makes you their enemy. It's like trying to take a favourite toy from a mentally ill person: you can coax, persuade, try to deceive that person into letting it out, finally take it away by force - and with each attempt the patient's distrust and wariness will grow until it ends in a burst of aggression.
Or there is another reaction, well described to me by a good friend in Moscow (one of the few people whom I did not doubt). He made many attempts to persuade of one of his colleagues, but he did it without pressure, patiently and methodically exposing the contradictions in the opponent's position. It should be noted that he had much more time for this than I had – after all, he lives there – but he also has much more patience with people. As a result, after a long unhurried conversation, he was getting the same reply: "Listen, well, let's finish already, I have a headache." If it were him talkin to Volodya, he would have achieved exactly that.
However, in the same month, another conversation took place, and it was unexpected. It was correspondence in Whatsapp, and I will reproduce the relevant part of it here.
Correspondence with my brother's classmate
Polina: "I hope the actions of our country do not affect you personally?"
(I am surprised. None of the interlocutors on the other side ever speaks directly about Russia's actions, avoiding even a hint of its responsibility.) I answer:
"Not directly. Indirectly, very strongly."
Polina: "How is that?"
Me: "People. Relatives, classmates. What's wrong with them? How did they lose human image?"
Polina: "Come on! No one wants bloodshed!"
Me: "Had a talk just yesterday. Terrible. Seems no one wants bloodshed, but blood is flowing like a river. "Those are all Nazies, followers of Bandera, I don't feel sorry for them. Destroy, to wipe it off the face of the earth." "
Polina: "Surely there are some Nazies."
Me: "Everyone?"
Polina: "No!!"
Me: "Are there no Nazies in Russia?"
Polina: "Well we keep no accounting of them. I can only assume that numbers will be smaller. And scoundrels can be found in any country!"
Me: "Exactly. But then who gave one country the right to attack another?"
Polina: "They promised to help Donetsk and Luhanks in gaining their independence, got involved in a fight, and this is where we ended up... I am not inclined to believe the official versions, many things are hidden..."
Me: "A very true guess.
In any country there are scoundrels. But no one has the right to attack another country. Russia has decided to act according to the right of the strong.
But thing is that for every force there is another force."
Polina: "The most important question for me is whether it was possible to avoid such a scale of hostilities? Or if we hadn't started ourselves, would the forces of collective West? Really enslave us?”
Me: "You're already head and shoulders above most, just because you're asking yourself this question, and because it is the important one for you."
Polina: "Yes, the important one. A lot depends on the answer to it. How to accept, for example, the fact that I live in an aggressor country?"
Me: "Well, the answer is obvious. We must accept the truth, whatever it may be."
Polina: "I am afraid it will be a very long time before the truth is revealed."
Me: "Maybe long, maybe not. But the whole point is not to wait for that moment, but to find the answer yourself. When everything is revealed, all the archives will suddenly become available, when the scale of the violence will become undeniable - everything may become clear. But will be too late.
Your question is really the main one. But it is not sport-like to prompt... You will find the answer. He who seeks will always find."
Polina: "I have huge gaps in education, I don't know history, I don't know any laws of society, I'm far from politics as a science, so it's very difficult for me. And I have to live only by one immutable law for me - in any, even the most terrible situation, the main thing is to remain human."
Me: "That's right. But there is one more thing - common sense. Sometimes it turns into a healthy distrust. It helps you see the contradictions when someone is lying."
Polina: "Yes. And I see a lot of contradictions."
Me: "I wish you not to remain indifferent to this."
Polina: "It is impossible to remain indifferent to this.
And how, in your personal opinion, should an honest person living in Russia behave?"
Me: "An honest person has only one duty - to understand what is really going on (even if it leaves the person alone, or in a terrible minority).
To protest, to go to the barricades is a personal matter for everyone, but not a duty. I am not calling on anyone to do this, and what I would do myself, I will keep to myself."
There are two things which immediately catch the eye in this dialogue - because they were completely absent in all other conversations on war:
- "How to accept, for example, the fact that I live in an aggressor country?" This phrase was repeated in my head like an echo. It seems there is some kind of a barrier that prevents people from accepting the truth – even those who are guessing about it.
- "I have huge gaps in education..." - and this is not like the Russian majority at all. All the plagued once like to repeat that Ukrainians have forgotten history - while themselves surely know it (and if you scratch a bit you see a complete ignorance.
This dialogue then continued - Polina sent me her three most important questions, to which I tried to answer as best I could. In response to one of them, I sent her my notes about refugees. It was evident from her reaction to them that they had made a strong impression on her; perhaps she found confirmation to something which she suspected - because she then asked me for permission to show them to someone else...
Connection disrupted (the end)
In the fall of 2023, I decided to congratulate my mother-in-law on her birthday. I quote this correspondence here in full.
Me: "Happy birthday! I wish you, some day, to realize where you ended up. Renounce the laws of the pack, turn away from the Z-animals that surround you. And find the courage to look into your daughter’s eyes."
Mother-in-law: "Leonid, I ended up where I should be - in my homeland in the hero-city of Moscow, where I was born and lived all my life. Here I am surrounded by good, decent people. And I can safely look into the eyes of any person, not only my daughter. I did not betray anyone and did not insult anyone. And I don't consider myself cowardly and mean. I am only sorry that my eldest, and as I always believed, smart daughter became a victim of Western propaganda. And what will she do when she understands it. However, I probably won't know about it anymore. I consider your congratulations insulting. And you have no right to do so."
Me: "Okay, keep listening to the Z-animals. I won't bother you anymore. I was hoping for a grain of conscience. You have betrayed before. Your own husband. In his last summer, we begged you not to transfer him to the new house. You didn't listen to us, nor to him. You just trampled on him. Then he died. Well, if you didn't like my birthday wish, I have something else. I wish you that food prices do not rise too quickly. That is something more valuable to you, and easier to understand."
Mother-in-law: "That's where this talk brings us... By the way, it was for you that we cleared the old house. And he eventually got used to the new place. And it is despicable to reproach me for his death. And you have no right to do so. You were far away and knew little about his condition. Unlike you, I don't wish harm to anyone. Ordinary people cannot be blamed for anything."
Me: "Don't hide behind us. We asked you not to move him. We had pity for him. And there is no need to hide behind the hero city of Moscow. God won't pay any attention to it."
Mother-in-law: "No one has ever written or said more nasty things to me than these. The critical mass has been passed. I consider further communication with you humiliating for me. Do not write to me anymore."
Me: "This is not nasty. It's just the truth. I have never seen a more cowardly person than you. You don't have the strength to look at yourself from the outside at all. You simply have no conscience. Will not disturb you anymore. You betrayed your daughter and granddaughters. I just don't have anything else to say to you... Perhaps will drop by to take my things someday; that will be fast."
Mother-in-law: "Is Natasha aware of this correspondence?"
Me: "No, I'm in Warsaw."
Mother-in-law: "I'll forward your birthday greetings to her. You have to answer for your words."
Me: "So will I. Have nothing to hide from her. She doesn't know yet."
A pause. Continuation of the correspondence the next day:
Me: "I shouldn't have written to you about your husband. We felt sorry for him, and it was cruel to move him, in his condition. As for your betrayal of your daughter and granddaughters, this is not a matter of the past, but of the present. And it is unforgivable."
Mother-in-law: "What betrayal?
Me: "I already explained that. Briefly and precisely, yesterday. Re-read. Just do it yourself, without Lena standing behind your shoulder."
Mother-in-law: "My husband and I lived a great happy life. We were both successful at work. At first, I gave him the opportunity to grow, taking on all the house stuff, then he gave me the opportunity to work. And we were happy with this life. His health has always given us a lot of trouble. Stomach ulcer, heart attack, strokes. I was always there and held his hand. In the last three years, I did not sleep a single night, because he was sick and would not let me sleep. For some time there was a nurse with him. I worked, built a house, but refused to go on business trips. Until the last moment, I hoped that he would cope with his head because the possibilities of the brain are limitless. When I quit the job, the doctors drew up a program for his treatment. But, he did not survive Covid. It hurts me very much to read that I am to blame for his death. I still miss him, and I feel very lonely, in my memory he is healthy and cheerful. Reading your message, I forcibly moved him to a new house, and then he died. That's so short and clear. Cause and effect... You have never answered what my betrayal is. Only general phrases. And I believe that it is you who are traitors. You consider me and everyone next to me to be some animal. I am trying to find excuses for you – apparently your life is not so good. And that makes you angry, pouring out all your hatred on me. For what? What exactly have I done wrong for you? We lived in my country house, and you came to my apartment. Was everything fine then? When did it turn bad? With Natasha, it's a different matter. She may be offended at me for not helping her when the girls were small, and it was hard for her. It still torments me, but I cannot bring it back. I was working at that time, I had just gained experience and was in great demand. Anyway, I turned a lot my mind this night. It will be better for all of us to think that I am dead to you. Please don't disturb me anymore and forget that I exist. Only answer concretely what my betrayal is. Thank you."
Me: "Everything you just said is one stream of excuses. We never needed help - we are strong and stand firmly on our feet. It has always been like this.
The betrayal happened in 2022. I tried to explain to you what it was - but you won't understand. Your daughter was at the local train station all March and April last year, meeting refugees whose houses were bombed by your troops. But you didn't even listen to her. For you, your fascist pack turned out to be more important than the words of your own daughter.
I racked my brains over it until I realized that your maternal instinct is weaker than the feeling of belonging to a pack. For me, this is unthinkable. The time will come when the zetniks will be shamed everywhere (if not hung on lampposts). What will you think then? That you were deceived?"
Mother-in-law: "P.S. About Lena. Lena is the only person who is with me in all troubles and joys. She stood next to her at my dad's funeral, she and Sasha found me a doctor who treated me for Covid, ordered a lot of expensive medicines, food, because I was very ill and recovery took a long time. She helps me a lot in everything: both in the country house and just by giving advice. She is a very wise, intelligent daughter. And she doesn't care what I think about current events. She is just my daughter. What exactly is my betrayal of Natasha and granddaughters? And what kind of time will come is already clear."
Me: "These are not general, but very clear and specific words. I'm trying to put myself in your place - I'm far away, and my adult daughter is calling me: "Dad, I'm at the train station, I need to accommodate refugees, there are four families with children, they barely escaped, everything was taken away from them. Dad, it's such a horror" – and I would be mentally with my daughter, I would listen to her, I would try to understand what was happening, I would ask her about everything, I would read about what was happening, I would look for various testimonies of what happened... And what did you do? You replied to your daughter: "Well, now it's clear who is at which side.” How can you not be ashamed of this???"
Mother-in-law: "No, I'm not ashamed. First, I tried not to discuss (and I still do) political issues either in conversation or in writing. In particular, because I did not know how Russians are treated in your country. And I asked Natasha about it. Secondly, 8 years of bombing and bullying Russians in Donbass and Lugansk had to be stopped. And if Russia had not started the Special Military Operation, Ukraine (read NATO) would have started the war on our territory. Do you not understand this? Or you are already so blinded with Western propaganda that you can no longer see anything? They made a good job of you, in the 12 years that you lived there. I didn't want to write all this, but I now I am forced to. Russia has never lost and will never lose. Russia was helping everyone, feeding everyone, and its own people lived the poorest life. Now everything is slowly getting better, thank God."
Me: "You are talking such nonsense even a child would be ashamed of. Ukraine was going to attack a nuclear country... Even the dumbest person could not believe it. Stop lying to me. You betrayed your daughter with lies in which you now stand up to your neck. But why are you lying to me now?"
Mother-in-law: "A nuclear country has never intended to use nuclear weapons. These are the Western scare myth that you are holding on to. And I don't lie and I don't need these conclusions about who is stupid and who is a child... No matter how I feel about you, I have never insulted you or called you a liar or anything else. So control your words - although it is too late now. Time will show who is who. You're talking nonsense. You've been brainwashed for 12 years. We speak different languages: I speak Russian, you speak German. And this says a lot. Don't write any more. I'm tired. I am 75 years old. Goodbye. I'm dead."
Me: "No, you are lying again. The Russian Defense Doctrine clearly spells out the use of nuclear weapons in an attack on the Russian Federation. You know this, everyone knows this. Therefore, a nuclear-free country could not attack the Russian Federation. Tired, 75 years - not an excuse for the betrayal that you have committed and continue to commit. About the Russian and German languages - let me guess - Lena was prompting?
Mother-in-law: "I live in the country house, Lena is in Odintsovo. Or you think that I have no thoughts of my own at all?
Please don't disturb me anymore. It is you who are fascists. You are arming Ukraine, continuing the war. I ask you not to terrorize me anymore."
Me: "God be your judge."
I have re-read this correspondence more than once. Sometimes my own words seem pointlessly cruel to me. What did I want from the unfortunate woman? A sudden awakening of conscience? Suddenly seeing the light at the end of her life? And I was told that I should not have done this towards a relative –anyone, but a member of your family.
I have one answer to this. Same answer as one woman from Kyiv gave to Russians back in 2025. WHAT KIND OF BLIND RELATIVES ARE YOU?
I realize that there are years and decades of life ahead. So much can change during this time, so many events can happen to us. But it is also clear that nothing will ever change for these people. Nothing. We did not cancel all these plague-ridden people from our lifes. But we have nothing to talk about with them. Forever.
Create Your Own Website With Webador