... In early June, Sasha posted a video from Lugansk. It captured a woman dying in the footage. She had her legs torn off, but she calmly and without hysterics, unlike the person filming her on a phone, asked to call an ambulance.
Next to her lay the body of a woman in grey breeches. She was killed after an airstrike on the city's regional administration building. She was a relative of Sasha's. I posted the video on my page. I lost many friends after that. Here she is lying dead. And in the comments “friends” write some nonsense about air conditioners and “separatists”. “It's their own fault”.
It turned out that people fall into different sorts. Those who can be sympathetic and those who cannot. Those who advocate the right ideas - you can listen to them. And there are others, of a different sort. And it wasn't written by Germans from the 1930s, but by some of my friends, with whom I went to skating rinks, with whom I ran in underground cars.
Six months have passed and a ceasefire has been established in Donbass. A relative peace has settled in the territory where Lida and Sasha live, and the line of confrontation has receded. The violent tension has subsided. The media has subsided.
And hunger came to Pervomaisk.
‘Hunger in Lugansk’
13 December 2014
Diary
In short, a good friend of mine from the Lugansk region wrote to me. I can back up his words. Last night, he posted in restricted access on his Facebook page:
“Dear citizens. Comrades... Friends. The SBU has become very active in our region (a friend lives in the part that is under Ukrainian control – author's note). They called two of my friends in for questioning and, God knows, I don't know how it's going to end up for me. So, I try to keep a low profile online with my opinions and activism. However, I feel it is right and necessary to tell you this.
Today my friend from Lugansk, Zhenya, was in Pervomaisk. He contracted to take humanitarian aid there. He called me just now. He has seen all sorts of things in his life, a man over 50, balls of steel and nerves of iron, but, although it became a buzzword, he really sobbed into the phone, levelling it with foul language. That's how men do it, you know...
“It's a real shithole in Pervomaisk. There's not a single house intact. About 70 percent are uninhabitable. There's no ceasefire or silence. Shelling is taking place every day. Those residents that remain live in basements and are afraid to come out. There is no heating. There is no communication. There is no electricity. There is virtually no water. Worst of all, there is no food either. The nearest civilisation lies in Stakhanov, 15 kilometres away. Brigades come from there to patch up the gas pipeline, sometimes an ambulance comes”. What he brought with him on his bus was unloaded at a general store, and from there it was distributed to public canteens. He walked around while they were unloading it. In this very canteen, the food was just potatoes floating in water.
He said that the militiamen invited him to eat. At first, he refused, but then accepted. He said: “I think I'll see what they're eating. If they serve borscht with meat, I am going to put a pot on their heads”. They were eating the same. Potatoes floating in warm water.
And now a real request. If anyone has anything to do with humanitarian aid, there is a man in Lugansk who is willing to take it to Pervomaisk. If my vouching for his honesty helps in any way, this is it.
For contact details, please direct message me”.
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