19 March 2024, Tuesday, 13:23
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In everyone’s memory

In everyone’s memory

Have anyone tried to count how many great Belarusians we have lost during the last years?

In 1995, I was one of Imia’s journalists when Mikhail Marynich, at that time – minister of foreign economic affairs, came to the Imia newspaper for an interview. When Svetlana Kalinkina called the ministry she was immediately put through to the minister. She told Mikhail Afanasyevich that Imia was going to interview him, and he said “Of course, no problem! I’ll drop by today at 18:30”.

At once we didn’t realize what he meant by “I’ll drop by at 18:30”. Would a minister just come to the newspaper? Well, he did. He came with a huge bag of grocery for us, who, as he put it, must have been in the office since the early morning with no lunch, and who definitely needed an energy boost for a good interview…

We were chewing and asking questions, Mikhail Afanasyevich gave us easy and smart replies that even those who had had a vague picture of Belarus’ foreign economic affairs could understand. The interview went very well.

Nearly a decade later many of my colleagues who had munched the minister’s treats were standing in the court corridors waiting for the accused. Marynich came with guards. He smiled when he recognized us. He was glad but somewhat embarrassed. So was his smile, a little bit guilty, as if saying “guys, why wasting your time for my sake!” Now, after Mikhail Afanasyevich’s funerals, I recall the guilty smile of this very kind and very humble person.

Right before Marynich’s funerals, one year after Viktor Ivashkevich passed away, a couple of his friends set up a monument on his grave. The same here: when I think about Viktor, I can only recall things about him that are unimportant, dispensable, “off the program”. For example, I recall that for a person of his size he was an outstanding dancer. He was amazingly plastic, which I know for sure after having danced rock-n-roll with him in the kitchen of Lena Lukashevich and Vitali Taras. We had so much fun that night, amazed by Vitia’s astonishing dancing skills.

In January 2011, Vitali Taras passed away. At that time, a month after the presidential elections of December 2010 many of us were in jail and could not come to take farewell. When I think of Taras, I can see us, adults, playing forfeits at a birthday party. Vitali got to make an impression of the famous couturier Paco Rabanne. I bet that Paco Rabanne himself would envy this cool king of fashion that the outstanding journalist Taras turned into so fast and so effortlessly. I was upset with another brilliant journalist Piotr Martsev because he was late to the party and to the game. A month before Mikhail Marynich left us we said goodbye to Martsev in the same funeral hall…

Of course, we do remember everyone. Those who were murdered, kidnapped, those who died under obscure circumstances. The names of Viktor Gonchar, Yuri Zakharenko, Anatoli Krasovski, Dmitri Zavadski will not be forgotten. We hold rallies, we publish brochures with their portraits, we spread leaflets with their names. We demand proper investigation of the murders of Oleg Bebenin, Veronika Cherkasova and Vasili Grodnikov. Meanwhile, we forget those who died a natural death.

There is a cheesy cliché somewhere deep in our minds which we refuse to admit: you have to be murdered to become a hero; death by cancer (age, stroke, heart attack) or a peaceful and quick demise don’t count. Other ways to die than by the hands of the bloody regime don’t count. Even death in a car crush seems quite peaceful compared to a murder by executors or squadron of death. We mourn and cry, as we are supposed to, and we come to take farewell in the funeral hall, and we carry flowers to the grave. However, we never write suchnames into our martyrology. Of course, there are exceptions – Vasil Bykau, Rygor Baradulin, Gennadz Buraukin, but these are titans.

Have we tried to count how many outstanding Belarusians we have lost during these years? I mean, not public figures but people who did all they could to free Belarus from the dictatorship; to save its European future; to restore its language, literature, cinema, science; who did everything for us, and without whom we are all alone. The fact that it was not the squadron of death but someone equipped with a Janet syringe and formalin who paid these people a visit doesn’t make them less worthy than the squadron’s preys. “He played with thrones and died of flu”, a never-ending story. Even at war, not everyone was shot dead or got their heart pierced; some died of camp fever, scarlet fever and pneumonia and other completely “peaceful” diseases. However, they remained soldiers.

Let’s continue our name count. Grigori Kiyko, Kristina Shatikova, Yuras Bushliakov, Igor Simbirev, Zmitser Sidorovich, Valentina Zimnitskaya, Arina Viachorka, Vladimir Boboryko, Gennadi Grushevoy, Dmitri Ivanovski, Irina Bugrova, Artiom Gribkov, Svetlana Volkova, Gennadi Sudnik, Vladimir Pleshchenko, Svetlana Naumova, Yuri Voloshin, Vladimir Sakulski, Irina Kozulina, Yuri Shiroki, Igor Germenchuk, Marina Babkina, Galina Drakokhrust… This list is incomplete. These are just the names that came to my mind first. You have to recall the rest. No, we have to recall the rest. We have to remember everyone, to put every name in the martyrology of the newest Belarusian history, to remember and to tell their stories to others. We owe them.

They have left us for the cities where we are not likely to meet them. The windows there are so dusty that one cannot see distinctly. They have left without seeing victory or freedom, and we are still here. Lev Razgon was lucky to survive Stalin, a dream he had in the concentration camp, but they weren’t so lucky. The dictatorship is still here. They will never see white-red-white flags on the roofs of state buildings, but we still hope, take risks, go to work and live our lives. And we love them who have left us for other cities. Cities so dead that one cannot even see Kristina Shatikova’s fiery hair.

We must win, not only for ourselves and our children, but even for those who left, died in hospices, in their own beds, under car wheels. We will never meet again. But while we are here I hope they will not be disappointed.

Irina Khalip for charter97.org

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