Day of Blood

I remember the tiniest details of the moment when I first learned about what happened in Odessa four years ago. I was in a hurry so I understood nothing. In the evening I started reading. But even then I understood nothing.
I understood nothing on the next day. My newsfeed consisted of Navalnyy and other oppositionist nonsense drooling over the yellow-blue flag. I didn’t know what to read and how to understand it. I didn’t understand the people with beautiful faces who were saving dogs or were posting about people without hands who were drawing but on that day wrote about the “smoked hundred.” My friends, my acquaintances. To be sure, I didn’t realize what was happening, I thought there was some mistake, a misunderstanding. Because one can’t talk like that about living people.
The realization came later, after some time.


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The Right to Choose

I rolled out a huge post about the elections, but then erased it all to hell.
It’s boring, although, to be honest, it’s also boring for you.
Let me tell you one story about being convinced of the rightness of your ideas.
There is a woman, Lyubov Mikhailovna Chernykh from Lugansk. I wrote about her in 2015. This woman lost a leg and an arm during the summer of 2014 when she was scooping out dead chickens. The chicken farm was hit by several shells, the chickens all died and started to rot. To prevent the plague from spreading to other parts of the farm and to the city itself, the chickens had to be removed as quickly as possible. It was unusually hot, and the corpses were decomposing, turning into a plague- and maggot-ridden sludge. The workers and local inhabitants all went out to clean up the mess. It was impossible to remain inside the farm sheds for long–the women (and it was mostly women) were collapsing from the heat and the stench.

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Helping Yaroslav

Friends, I have an unexpected request.
Unexpected even for me.
As you know, we and our friends and readers assist the people of Donbass.
During these past years we’ve done much, including taking people to Russia for treatment.
Recently I was asked to help, as someone with ties to benevolent activities.
I was somewhat taken aback, since the matter concerned a young boy from Kiev.
Actually, I was stunned, because I have no idea how aid organizations function in Ukraine, and moreover me writing about this could hurt the boy’s family. But then I realized how absurd this situation was. Kids are beyond politics, and I hope that people from various points of view will comprehend that.
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On their knees

Yesterday I read an article which said that there appeared a tradition in the post-Maidan Ukraine to meet fallen heroes on one’s knees. I googled a whole mass of photos and videos in which people really do stand along the roads on their knees, and with Ukrainian flags. Men, women, and children, often in mud, sleet, and snow. Cars or processions move past. It’s widespread in the country’s western regions and it’s been written this phenomenon appeared only with the conflict on the Donbass.
To be sure, they also say that a similar tradition existed when Ukraine was under Polish rule in the 16th-18th centuries, when the Galicians were compelled to fall to their knees during their feudal masters’ funerals (so it’s their specialty, then?)
All the articles that I read on this topic were rather condescending. Concerning their slave mentality and all that.
But I have scientific interest in the phenomenon, being a professional scholar of religion.

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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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