Lazarevka. At six in the morning, the weather was misty and autumnal. I was thinking about the fact that, tomorrow, I have to send the results of the vote for the Russian Prize to Moscow. I am a member of the jury for the award, which has for eight years been given to writers who write in Russian but live outside of Russia. I will send the results, of course, but I doubt that I’ll go there for the awards ceremony in April.
Russia, you can be proud! Your nationalist political tourists, otherwise known as Russian National Unity (RNE) – the biggest group of neo-Nazis in the world – hoisted the Russian flag over the regional administration building in Kharkiv. (The hero who achieved this feat is a Russian from Moscow.) At the same time, they beat up pro-Europeans, forcing them to their knees and smearing their faces with zelenka. The writer Serhiy Zhadan refused to kneel. They hit him on the head with a baseball bat. He is now in hospital.
In Kiev last night, three police officers were killed when they stopped an unmarked car. Nobody knows how many weapons are circulating in the country now.
The session of Parliament will open in about twenty minutes. I am now able to recognise the ‘official’ alarmist rumours that spread when there are military operations. Even reading the news feed on the Internet, you can sense which information is credible among all the thousands of propagandist lies.
Yesterday, at the Maystruks’ house, Andrey phoned a friend in Sevastopol. She told him that everything was calm in the city, but that on television they were showing horrors. Then I called my friend Enver Izmaylov, a Crimean Tatar and the best jazz guitarist in Ukraine. Turns out he’s in Kiev. He wants us to go home this evening.
Two nights and one day in Lazarevka have given me back some strength and courage.