President Putin recognizes LDPR passports

This news has been reverberating for days.
But I didn’t at first understand what this was about.
Because LPR and DPR passports have had de-facto recognition for at least a year.
What does it mean?
As far as I understand, juridical recognition means that you can be admitted into a country that recognizes the document’s validity. Which means the customs will let you through the border.
About a year ago, in the spring, we were helping a woman from Stakhanov get into a hospital in Moscow. She had an LPR passport. She crossed the border with no trouble, and no institution anywhere rejected her passport as an official document. I even remember that the doctor, upon seeing her passport, smiled and summoned his colleagues to have a look–see, these are the passports LPR is issuing. This was in Moscow.

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Poklonskaya and Griboyedov

The newsfeed has come alive. Everyone wants to express joy at the fact they know who first voiced which phrase.
It reminds one of hipsterism overcome by the sense of its own elitism whenever it sees the word “coffee” used as if it were a neuter noun. In all this noise, what’s curious is not the fact that Poklonskaya is immersed in literature bur rather the joy with which everyone pounced on her.

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The Death of Arseniy Pavlov

When I read about Motorola’s death, my insides churned.
As they did a year and a half ago when we, after an accident, in the midst of fighting, were going to the Donbass with aid, and we got a call that Zhenya Ishchenko was killed. The acting mayor of Pervomaysk. Someone who would take unexploded shells out of the asphalt with his bare hands and who delivered bread to bomb shelters even as shells kept falling. Who personally dug up people from under the rubble. Several volunteers from Moscow were killed too, and everyone thought it was us.

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Angel Battalion

A little about the commander of the humanitarian “Angel Battalion”, Aleksey Smirnov, who was arrested in DPR.
I don’t know Lyosha personally. Or, more accurately, we’ve never met. I haven’t even known of his existence for a long time, and he didn’t know about mine.
I found out about him accidentally, during a volunteer debate which broke out in the news feed. They were talking about a self-promoter Lyosha who goes by the nickname Rezhissyor [Director, as in movies]. Lyosha in reality is a director, though I don’t know what he has directed. Perhaps nothing–but that’s not the issue. What is the issue is that he and a group of 12 people has been evacuating people from under shellfire since the first days of the war, and is also providing humanitarian aid.

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Please pardon me, but I couldn’t restrain myself

You, the unknown “girl from Ukraine” who wrote a veritable “Yaroslavna’s wail”, why do you hate Russians–you, who are spreading this mass hysteria of Russophobia, you are distorting meanings in every phrase you use. Do you hear me?
You wrote that post in the Russian language. You are using concepts from my culture, not yours.
What do you know about fear?
What do you know about pain?
You’ve seen soldiers in the streets?
Read someone else’s posts? Spent hours in front of the TV?
You are concerned for the kids who are forced, in schools, to draw cranes flying home and send them to soldiers?
What do you know about war, aside from internet hand-wringing by imaginary wives?
I’ll tell you what you need to know.
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What’s all the hubbub?

I start up my computer and there’s nothing on except Eurovision. Ignore, ignore–it never interested me.
But this time it’s off the scale. Out of sheer spite I read nothing, then think–fine, I’ll listen, see what they awarded the prize for.
So I watched. I didn’t know who the winner was or anything at all. Simply watched the whole thing from the start, but already after 30 seconds I felt it was pure kitsch. Pardon me for saying so, but: no voice, no charisma, no nothing. I decided to watched who participated from our side.
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Odessa. We Remember.

I was crossing a bridge when I got a phone call.
–Have you seen the news? About the “smoked hundred”?
That’s how I found out about the fire in the Labor Union House in Odessa, from a friend whose political orientation was different from mine.
That day became a horrible turning point, after which one could genuinely say the war had begun.

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