Rise after a Fall

Just Cannot Stay Away

Just Cannot Stay Away

That day was quite warm, but large frozen blocks of snow were still on the streets. Right after the rain, early in the morning, I found myself in the very epicenter of the whirling revolution of Honor and Dignity. Though it was only seven a.m., Khreshchatyk was not empty. Some people were chopping up the firewood, some were making breakfast while others were strengthening barricades and distributing provisions to the tents around from the city hall where the headquarters were organized.

Young girls made tea, cheering up sleepy watchmen. Here you could see people from all walks of life of any age, from mothers with prams and the elderly, playing chess, to the youngsters playing football. When the city was still half-asleep, the revolution was fully awake. But the most critical and shocking things were yet to come.

Bankovaya Street, leading to the President’s Office and the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine, was decorated as an endless photo gallery. This very street just a few days earlier was easily recognizable in those images as they reflected cruel events of the past days. “Berkut”, a special task police squad, had shot the defenseless crowd from slide-action shotguns. People were lying on the snow-covered asphalt, being ruthlessly beaten with rubber truncheons. Some “siloviki”, rather than officers, were pictured with burning “Molotov cocktails” in their hands. It was easy to guess who the victims of their hatred were. Next to the photo gallery you could find the effects of the cruel m******e by the law-enforcement bodies — places, covered with flowers and candles, where completely innocent people had been killed just for going out to protest and express their indignity, without any weapons in their hands.

Seeing all this, I felt the inner cold unknown to me, similar to the sensations, which you have when one of the nearest and dearest dies and you do not know what to say to the mourning relatives. At that time something died in myself, too, but I also realized that the previous life had been like a caricature, full of lies and deceit, as if they were a web and mold. Blood, pain and deaths revealed the true infamy of the Russian propaganda that knows no limits.

Volunteers were walking in the streets distributing leaflets, informing that in two days there would be a peaceful demonstration. People wanted to manifest their indignity, blatant discontent with the criminal regime of the president-killer. People demanded changes and new life, free from corruption and humiliation from the Russian Federation. The forthcoming demonstration would become fatal, but heroic protesters knew nothing about it.

Away from the barricades, nothing would tell about the Maidan bustling and boiling in the capital city center. It was unnecessary there. The idea of the Revolution of Honor and Dignity was growing in people’s minds, and they ohm, in turn, built barricades against established criminal rules and lifestyle. All these happened to me, too.

The next day I came back to my native Crimea, Simferopol. All mass media broadcasted President Yanukovitch’s bloody m******e with the protesters. The Maidan was on fire. People were beaten, kidnapped and killed. The toll of dozens and hundreds of injured. A lad, shot by “Berkut” in his back. A girl volunteer in the blood smeared T-shirt, red cross and a shot neck. That was a m******e of the regime against its people. It was at that moment that I asked myself the key question: “Who am I? A man, brought up by heroic deeds of the literary characters, or a coward sitting aside, in a warm safe place during the historic time, when my country really needed me”. It was necessary to make the decisive choice in life determining the life position, and cross the line. At these moments all the mundane things like money, comfort and the fear of losing everything are an anchor holding a person. To leave a job, career, leave for the unknown, hoping only for the destiny and fortune...

It is hard. Too many NO were there in my choice but I did it.

The nearest large scale event against Yanukovitch’s regime was planned in a few days’ time, and there was no question of whether to go or not, to participate in the fight for freedom or stay away as a passive observer. In my Bohemian artistic crowd few people were interested in the future of the country, and so it was necessary to start everything from scratch. Days passed in the preparations and the search of the fellow-thinkers, who turned out to be numerous. It was shocking to find a fifteen-thousand crowd of active citizens on the politically passive, Russian propaganda brain-washed community on the peninsula. The protesters were mainly Crimean Tatars, so I easily dissolved in the crowd together with my fellow-thinkers.

Though we were free to do whatever we could, the event was absolutely peaceful. No provocations, no opposition and full public support. The Crimean ruling regime was set an ultimatum to dismantle Soviet heritage monuments and hold extraordinary elections. I thought that the Crimea could bloodlessly and flawlessly change the criminal power. But, naturally, everything went wrong.

Just three days later frightened traitors controlled by the agents of the neighboring country planned to hold a meeting of the Verkhovna Rada of the Crimea[1], where they were going to pass separatist laws and alterations to legalize the upcoming Russian invasion into Ukraine.

It was just impossible to stay away.