15 November 1999
The refugees in the camps in Ingushetia fall into one of two groups. Some hate the Russians and anyone from Moscow. Others cannot and don't want to imagine a future outside Russia. However, when they begin to describe the pitiful state of those left at the old people's home in Grozny they are all in full agreement. Almost 100 old men and women, 30 of them bedridden, remain in the Chechen capital with bombs falling indiscriminately all around. "What can you [i.e. Russians, AP] do right, if you can't even save your own old folk from being bombed?"
It was painful and shaming to hear. Left without relatives, these elderly men and women were reduced to desperate begging, wandering the city in search of food. Those still able to walk brought food for the bedridden. The staff had abandoned them. There was no water, electricity or gas. And behind all these tales, alas, lies the issue of nationality: for the most part those spending their last years at the home are Russians and other Russian speakers,31 "your people". Chechens do not usually send their old people to such homes.
And that was how the idea first arose. We had to get these unfortunate old men and women out of Grozny at any cost and find them somewhere decent to live. But how?
"What Can You Do Right?"
We made a start. All of Moscow officialdom, probably, received the same question. Who should help the Grozny old people's home? Whose responsibility is it? Tell us his name, patronymic and surname.
The answer, it turned out, was no one. During both wars, it is true, representatives of the Russian Ministry of Labour and Social Development came to inspect the home, supposedly to provide aid. But now? When bombs were falling? Political considerations and the "struggle against terrorism" had made them forget all about their charges. Then the military added their contribution: all who had remained in Grozny, they declared, were accomplices of the bandits. That was an end of it. There was now no way of calling the Ministry of Labour to account: it was easier to bomb them than save them.
We could only conclude that the way our State is run today there is not one official who accepts responsibility for the fate of 100 old and lonely people, stranded on the front line of the great military and political venture in the North Caucasus.
At this point emotion took over. At first sight the rescue of these helpless old men and women was an almost impossible task. It only began to appear a reality once we started appealing directly to people's emotions. The first to take our idea to heart and bring his considerable personal connections into play was Yevgeny Gontmakher, who heads the Department for Social Development on the government staff. He did everything he could, acting as an individual, to ensure that the Minister of Labour and Social Development, Sergei Kalashnikov – who until then refused even to talk about the Grozny home (while fully aware of its terrible plight) – received the necessary order from Valentina Matvienko, the Deputy Prime Minister. Very soon Kalashnikov's deputy, Sergei Kiselyov, had found places for the old people in homes located in nine other regions of the country.
Here we committed a fundamental and fateful error. In order not to dampen their stirring enthusiasm we ignored too much of what these federal bureaucrats were saying. We pretended not to hear, for instance, when those involved in the operation loftily declared that it was "politically unwise" to evacuate the old people from Grozny. We even agreed to a compromise, promising not to publish a word until the happy end had been reached. When that moment came, we assured them, we would give a lyrical description of all the participants and forget every unpleasant moment there had been.
And there were more than enough of those. Kalashnikov, for instance, demanded our guarantee that there were "only Russians" in the Grozny old people's home; a little later, when he found out there were "also Chechens there", he accused us of deceit. We pleaded with certain politicians, battling to enter the new Duma, for money to buy warm clothes for the old people, and to pay for the bus to get them out of Grozny. Those aspiring tribunes of the people also insisted on guarantees: yes, they would do something but only if they were shown on all the main TV channels, greeting the helpless old people from Chechnya. Without a shade of embarrassment, these future parliamentarians mused aloud to themselves: "Only 100? That's not going to bring in many votes ..."
Our compromise with this cynical company served no purpose. We kept quiet about the story while the government officials and Duma candidates were just looking for a chance to avoid doing anything. Their main concern was to ensure that no one later learnt how indecently they'd behaved.
"Who's She? Matvienko?"
While we continued trying to win over the political elite in Moscow the military completely encircled Chechnya. It was now 100 times more difficult to move the old people's home out to the frontier with Ingushetia. For hours I stood at the Caucasus checkpoint. I looked the commandant, Colonel Khrulyov, in the eye and I begged, pleaded and explained to him that the Deputy Prime Minister, Valentina Matvienko, had already issued the relevant order. His answer was simple: "Who's she? Matvienko?" Or: "What are they to you, these old people?" He hinted persistently that the enemy was vigilant and that "terrorists could enter Russian territory" disguised as busloads of pensioners.
I asked colleagues who were working nearby, some of them very well known TV journalists, to help. They listened attentively, but did not show the slightest inclination to get involved.
According to Sergei Kalashnikov's instructions Ruslan Tsetsoyev, the Minister of Labour for Ingushetia, was to help in transporting the elderly. However, Tsetsoyev was so engrossed in the preparations for his own birthday party that he shamelessly pushed me out of his office when I began speaking about the old people's home. Most important of all, he let us down whenever we needed his help. If we reached agreement that a bus should be at the checkpoint by 9 a.m. then it was not there at 9, or 10, or 11 ... It took a while before we understood: he had been told by Moscow to do nothing.
We got in touch with the Chechen side. Perhaps the people struggling to hold on to power in Grozny would like to demonstrate their own magnanimity and themselves deliver the old people to the frontier with Ingushetia?
Alas, the Chechen reaction was indistinguishable from that of the federal authorities. There were a great many promises.
First from the lips of Mate Tsikhesashvili, Asian Maskhadov's personal representative, who heads the department for inter-governmental relations of the Chechnya cabinet of ministers.
Second from Vakha Dudayev, a deputy of the existing parliament of Chechnya. He was especially insistent that his was the only legitimate representative assembly in the republic and so it was a matter of honour for the deputies to see that the old people were evacuated.
Third from the Red Cross representative in Grozny and from dozens of private individuals. They swore oaths and gave us heartfelt looks.
These words all proved so much hot air. Gradually it became clear that those in charge of Chechnya today, or their close allies, wanted exactly the same as their opposite numbers on the federal side: as much blood and horror, as many deaths and bombs, as possible. The two were in direct and uncompromising confrontation and knew that neither could back down. We were repeatedly told by the Chechen side that the old people's home had been bombed out of existence and its inhabitants were now all dead. Not once did they offer the slightest proof. The federal side played the same game, assuring us that Chechen fighters had destroyed the home. And not once did they offer us a shred of evidence.
The well-informed in Nazran told us there was only one remaining chance: we should throw ourselves on the mercy of Valery Kuksa, who was Ingushetia's Minister for Emergency Situations, the all-powerful local equivalent of Sergei Shoigu. He was the only one who could help. Kuksa was closely linked to the generals leading the combined forces group and he had connections with the equivalent ministry in Chechnya. He had fought alongside Ruslan Aushev, President of Ingushetia, during the Afghan war – and he was not just a friend, but had been Aushev's commander. Kuksa would find out if the old people were still alive, he would get them out.
So we appealed to him. And Kuksa promised. He was surprised, though, at my persistence. I appealed to him a second time. Kuksa again gave his word. But asked me not to pressure him too much. I appealed to him a third time, and Kuksa promised yet again.
And that's as far as we have got.
Strong, brave, active and ambitious individuals have now gone into hiding to avoid facing the plight of the weakest, loneliest and most abandoned people. It does indeed disgrace the nation.
What now? They say you should live quietly and not go poking your nose into other people's business. They say that Putin's rating is growing because he has shown how tough he is. They say that Valentina Matvienko is his right hand and can do anything she wants. Let me tell you, it's all lies. These heartless tough hands are signing death sentences.
INGUSHETIA–MOSCOW