Happy New Year, Grozny!
(9 years since the beginning of the latest Russian military campaign in
Chechnya)
F. Shamileva
[28.12.2003 9:19]
Late December 1994. The war was going on for two weeks already, the armored
armada of Russian troops spread all across the plain territory of Chechnya and
got sink its teeth into the unfrozen land, destroying and ruining on its way
"of strengthening integrity of the state" neat fruit gardens and
vineyards of Chechen peasants. One after another demarches and blitzkriegs of
the Russian military command failed. Day and night Grozny was in fire, its
reflection could have been seen in the remotest corners of the republic,
constant explosions of bombs and artillery shells merged into an incessant
roar. People left to remote villages and mountain settlements taking along with
them only what they could carry themselves. The world was falling down, and all
hopes, projects and the sense of live gradually turned into aches. Many knew nothing
about their relatives and they awaited any news from the capital, listened to
descriptions of burnt vehicles with doubled burnt silhouettes inside, there
were many such vehicles along roads, being afraid of "identifying"
relatives or friends by such scanty signs.
There was no fear. No desperation. The reality which fell upon people found no
associative mechanism in their mind to accept the war as fact. Every one tried
to find some explanations to what was going on, to build a logical chain of
reasons and consequences, in accordance with one's personal life experience and
knowledge. People discussed all possible "revelations" and
"prognoses" and different variants of their artistic interpretations.
New oracles appeared and disappeared due to their professional invalidity.
Intuition failed, sixth, seventh and other light material feelings atrophied
openly and even provocatively. It was clear - you are only a small piece of
flesh the value of which is determined by the figure - 60-70 - kilograms and
span of life (without an outside interference). No one wanted to think how the
bulk of the limit was spent - because we got only bustle and a waste of time
and forces. But there was no fear. There was an absolute feeling of irreality,
as if you see an endless, lengthy and sticky dream and could not wake up.
In the village where we stayed every family accepted thirty-forty refugees and
there was a serious problem of food and fuel. The gas pipeline was destroyed
all across the republic and collecting firewood in nearby forests was fraught
with stepping on a stray mine or meeting a hungry group of Russian
reconnaissance which used to play "Richards Zorges sent deep to the
enemy's rear."
- The war will end shortly, - representatives of Russian-Chechen small business
in long cashmere coats asserted with confidence sadly trying to count the cost
of Italian bricks and can tin wasted at the construction of a pompous (to spite
of neighbors) house in Grozny. - And who is going to fight! Against whom! A
bunch of fanatics? They would be killed in five seconds... -
"refugees" with massive golden rings tried to persuade each other.
The blockade became thicker, bombs dropped closer and closer to settlements
high in the mountains with no "strategic" bridge or road left intact around
them. The circle around Grozny shrank, no one could believe that the ruined and
burnt city could stand up for so long. Anxious voices of announcers at foreign
news agencies informed the world about huge casualties from the Russian side.
The reputation of the "undefeated and legendary" Russian army
smelled... The first legends of the war about "well trained" Chechen
professionals and "unprofessional" Russian army of dilettantes.
In such situation a decisive promise of the military command to "present"
the obstinate Chechen capital to Russia's defense minister to his birthday,
which coincided with the New Year holidays, sounded too threatening. We can
only guess what other spotted resources of meanness were hidden in the cheat
sleeve of Russian spin politicians.
At night in all Chechen settlements people used a primitive black-out, although
there was no electricity. And villages sank into darkness and silence and when
the weather was bright (for known reasons, people did not like it), unbiased
cold stars glimmered in the December sky and cleared up darkness.
...I woke up because someone was persistently knocking on the window, but no
one except me heard it. I decided it only seemed to me and tried to return to a
more peaceful and safe, than reality, space of my dreams. But knocking
repeated. I decided that a neighbor came for heart drops, paraffin candles or
kerosene for refugees who usually arrived at night and I unwillingly headed for
the front door maneuvering between people sleeping everywhere. Behind the
window in a long glass verandah I saw white silhouettes looking like ghosts. I
was afraid of waking up the whole house and asked a shameful question for a
Chechen (in accordance with the Chechen etiquette, no curiosity is allowed
during the first three days after guests arrive). I cowardly asked who was
knocking out there.
An unknown voice politely asked where the village self-defense headquarters was
located. The question was in Chechen and I opened the door without fear. That
was a mobile reconnaissance group in white cloaks, they warned us to be on
alert and to immediately tell people that a number of subversive Russian groups
were acting in mountain districts for several days already and they could
organize any actions against the civilian population. They were in a hurry,
because they followed one of such groups which moved almost noiselessly,
entering no settlements and making no fires. I had to wake up neighboring boys
and go around the village together with them (at least some safety!) to tell
sleepy people to lock up doors at night and keep arms, if any, in readiness. By
the way, people showed no surprise or alarm - another proof that people
experienced a permanent psychological shock. They did not believe there could
be invisible evildoers in our forests, they even did not want to accept the
fact of a military invasion. Some people were rude and recommended to
"avoid bothering smart people with such propaganda" and asserted that
the war would definitely end "within the next several days." Frankly
speaking, several days later the skeptics apologized to me because a Russian
subversive group was captured in the vicinity of the settlement of Alkhazurovo
by the same Chechen group. But that happened later.
... Several days after the night visit and my futile information voyage around
the sleeping village, sounds of the real and too close war woke me up again. A
skirmish took place somewhere in the center of the village, lighting rockets
flashed everywhere, I heard people shouting. However, all except me, were
deeply sleeping. We had no adult men at home, only an old woman, and women with
children. I couldn't imagine what could happen to them, judging by the noise -
a large group entered the village, but there was no village self-defense
headquarters, to shame of the district residents. Villagers had no weapons,
except for a couple of hunting rifles, with which local Russians hunted for
wild boars (which used to destroy young corn) thereby pleasing Chechens.
...It was clear - we happened to be in a helpless situation. The old wooden
door was locked with a symbolic device of a metal hook with a string, something
like a common chain - an invention of our grandmother. We had no arms and
except for school knowledge about assembling-disassembling Kalashnikov we knew
nothing about it. There must have been a gas cylinder in the house - a gift
from a friend of mine, who had the appearance of a bright retro-actress and had
to keep something in her purse to scare away persistent admirers. My heart sank
when I looked at the peacefully sleeping children who were absolutely helpless
against the monstrous world ready to ruthlessly rush into their small lives. I
could only try to do something for them and I felt ashamed and was afraid for
such futile and doomed attempt.
Fortunately, I quickly found the metal cylinder. Now I had to find a suitable
place near the front door to have time to spray it into the face of anyone who
would break into the house. I imagined an unfavorable picture of subsequent
events: - What if it would have no effect? Or a belated effect? What if
"he" would come within a group?
As usual, classic literature helped at the difficult moment, and cursing
Dostoyevsky I headed across the inner yard to get the weapon of Radion
Raskolnikov. I could hardly raise a heavy axe which was usually used to cut oak
and beech knots of "year circles," I risked "flying"
together with it somewhere inside the house because my cold weapon was too
heavy. I could not even imagine that my hand could make a mechanical move and
crush a human being with a device invented by primeval people to get food and
fire. Probably, mechanisms to quickly kill were invented for the bullet to
reach a victim before the voice of consciousness can reach the heart of a
potential killer. I wonder what people thought about while inventing quick- and
multiple- firing weapons to kill people?
A small, almost toy-like axe to make chips was too cold, my fingers froze and
became numb, but I could not hold my weapon in gloves - its wooden handle used
to treacherously slip out. For a chance, as a reserve self-defense device I had
at hand a strange kitchen hatchet with square metal bumps for steaks.
I did not know what would been worse, if my defense plan succeeded or if I died
like a hero on the spot, having no fear and pain never after. I was ashamed of
such defeatist thoughts and at my personal military council I decided to fight
until the end with what I had at my disposal! Theoretically, there was a chance
of getting a captured rifle and may be even a couple of grenades. The rest of
the time I froze against the cold door and tried to remember how to charge
weapons, where the safety lock was located, also I remembered that there must
be a ring to pull out before throwing a grenade.
While thinking it over I revealed another problem having no way-out. A member
of the subversive group who had to break into our house would not be alone!
There was a group of them! I can deal with him, no doubt of that?! Where should
I hide him - paralyzed with the gas cylinder and injured with the hatchet? We
had no cellar, I could hardly take him to the attic, they would easily find him
in the shed... I have to wake up people, dress up children and evacuate all of
them across the river, high into the mountains! I can do it? And where is the
battle taking place?
Shooting was heard closer and closer, I could saw hissing lighting rockets
every second, some people passed by tramping down the street... A dark figure
with a flashlight rushed to a neighboring fence, I heard a woman speaking, she
called someone by name. Carefully sorting out my arsenal, keeping the gas
cylinder in my hand, I quietly opened the door and looked across the street.
That was out neighbor - a student girl, she could not wait for the first exam
session and returned to her parents together with their relatives from Grozny -
refugees.
- Why are you out in the street? - I asked her hardly moving my lips which were
numb from the cold: - What has happened? Why are they shooting?
Her answer surprised me: - Why, are you sleeping? Don't you know anything?
Happy New Year!!! Wake up! We haven't surrendered Grozny! They cannot seize it!
They could not seize even the presidential palace! Sever fighting in the city
center!!! They lost today! They cannot win, they cannot win! Listen to the
radio! Happy New Year!!!
... I was sitting on the icy floor in the hall of our frozen village house and
cried, wiping out, as a child, intolerably warm and salty tears. Whereas the
alarm exhausted women and their careless children were peacefully sleeping
having no idea of great passions which engulfed our helpless and coward
self-defense squad in the person of one sobbing fighter who kept vigil all
through the last night of the first war year. Later they, as well as me, would
find out about those who defended them on that night, about the triumph of
courage and pure faith over the malice and meanness, about the ephemeral nature
of violence and a suicidal shrewdness of the Russian ruler who was the first,
to his own harm, to call the fortress on the river of Sunzha - Grozny!
(Terrible!)
That was the victory which can never be taken away or defamed. Even destroyed,
burnt, heaped up with dead bodies and poured with blood, occupied by enemies
and their allies, slandered and desecrated - Grozny will remain the winning
city forever. It will accept, support and offer shelter to own residents, it
will be dangerous at any window and a fragment of ruins for strangers. It is in
no hurry, it still has a long and glorious history ahead, and over the past 200
years it has never betrayed it. Enemies do not live in cities which repulse
them, they cannot stay in the city having no safe places, where night comes as
a beast of prey, the nest of which is ruined, cubs killed...
... Already 30 minutes of the new epoch and "00" hours of 1995 - the
first year of the latest military campaign of the bloody empire against my
unconquered people.
- Happy New Year, Grozny!!!