Rise after a Fall

Keep Silent

Keep Silent

Within one day my life turned into obscurity. Uncertainty after uncertainty. Kaleidoscopic change of positions. Relocations. The mask was burning me with my own breathing. Light suffocation. Adrenaline at the maximum. Nerves like strings. From both sides I felt strong shoulders of my kidnappers. Scolding. Threats. Nasty jokes and laugh. Do not remember what they were...

My memories were blanked by beating. The time was really dragging. The head was full of thoughts and empty at the same time. I thought that I might not be able to change anything by myself. Options were vanishing fast. Utopia. Collapse. Atlantis sinking.

As a result of the search the items below became the evidence for the case: 1) two protective devices, namely, respirators; elbow and knee pads — protective devices for rollerblading; 3) the kit of first aid medications; 4) a torch; 5) a pneumatic revolver, not prohibited as weapons either in Russia or in Ukraine, a toy, in fact, which they did not even ask explanations for. Wasn’t it appropriate equipment for the most dangerous Crimean terrorist?

Time passed, and everything finishes by triggering new events. I was beaten sometimes out of boredom, just as entertainment. It is hard for me to recollect any phrases except for “You got into a mess, a piece of s**t”, “Having fun, hey, Banderite[3]?” and the like.

Now my destination was the Federal Security Service of Russia in Simferopol. The institution, where eighty-five percent of the staff were traitors and swore allegiance to the occupants, the Russian Federation. The place, where for twenty-three years of the Ukrainian independence the invasion had been prepared.

I was taken to the serpentarium... interrogations continued. I must admit that intimidation techniques that have been developed, established and polished for centuries by the bootlickers of the Russian Imperialism, are highly effective...

Shouting could be heard from everywhere. Threats. Questions alternating with kicks. “Who is Chyrniy?”, “Who planted the mine in Belbek?”, “Who is Sentsov?”, “Who exploded our tank?”, “Where are the other members of the “Right Sector”?” Absolutely meaningless titles, names and locations. I did not serve in the army. I did not have access to military information. I did not know anyone from the “Right Sector”. The family names of Chyrniy and Sentsov did not ring a bell to me. Oleg Sentsov, as it turned out later, was a director. But, I am sorry, he is not Emir Kusturica, not Steven Spielberg, but I am not a film critic to know his family name...

The same questions over and over again, to which I did not and could not have answers... it was necessary to tell them something... and I justified myself, defended myself verbally. That was what they needed. To make me speak. But my answers did not meet their expectations. I would say and they would beat me. On the stomach. Strongly. Painful. Seconds. Minutes. Hours... It seemed to be endless. They were not satisfied with my answers.

Now, having gone through the experience, I can give you only one effective advice. Keep silent. Keep silent till the end. Do not believe any promises. They will not stop. It does not matter whether you speak or not, they will want more. They will seek to achieve their goals, framing up what never actually happened. That is a factory of lies of the totalitarian system. All your attempts of verbal resistance will only be the manifestation of weakness, which the executors will repeatedly use for their benefit. Do not betray the idea. Do not betray yourself. Do not yield to fear. It is silly to be afraid, because they will role play the scenario they need. Whatever is to come...

There I was in the Federal Service. Imagine. Step by step you are taken deeper into the unknown. Nothing can be seen, only some-

thing can be heard; the officers of the organization passing by, stopping and joking about me in the talks among themselves and with the field investigators that had detained me. I remember the whole route. From the entrance straight on. One step, a few more. Turn right. Straight again. Almost till the end. Halt.

To the right. An office. We came. I was taken into the room and placed on the chair, to which one hand was tied. The other hand was tied to the hand of a security guard. The bag was taken off. What was there?

White textured painted walls. Or, perhaps, wallpaper. The same that I had recently seen on a video record of the confession in crimes by another Ukrainian prisoner of war. Imagine, what is yet to come? Next to the door there was a wooden desk, a computer and an armchair. This desk was an extension of the other one. Near the opposite wall there was a file cabinet. Volumes of criminal cases. All documents that had been worked on at the times of Ukraine... near the window, on both sides, there were two more workstations. I was sitting in the center of that public place. Every police officer knew very well the expression on my face...

In total there were about nine persons in the room. Most of them were in black trousers and blue shirts. The others were in civilian clothing, or even casual. No shoulder straps. Those in blue shirts, were investigators of the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. That was something I, surely, learnt later. Those in casual clothes were field investigators and security guards. Probably... I could only suggest.