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English Language Page Tanya Lokshina The Kavkaz-1 military check-point on the road to Chechnya welcomes the traveler with a slogan painted in white across a bloc of concrete, “Stop! Transport Patrol! RNE!” (RNE being the acronym for the strongest Russian nationalist party — Russian National Unity). To make it even more convincing, the cabin also boasts an appeal “Glory to Russia! RNE.” One cannot but feel proud for our mighty Motherland… It is strange to find yourself here for the first time when you read so much about this place, when you know it in theory so well that every name speaks to you. The world of words is suddenly filled with life. The September sun makes the landscape soft, fields spread on both sides of the road. And you are suddenly in doubt whether the war has been really raging here for so many years. But the idyll is broken by the military transport, by the men in camouflage and masks seated on armored personnel carriers. I thank them for a timely reminder. We are driving to Alkhan-Yurt, the ancestral home of the prominent Moscow businessman Malik Saidullaev whose registration as a candidate in the Chechen presidential election was void on September 11. The man himself is in Moscow at the moment. But his election campaign centers are still working all over the Chechen Republic, and his brother Milan, who flew from London abandoning some major business project there, is keeping a close watch on the situation in the field. Milan wants to share information on the pre-election situation in Chechnya, and the pressure Malik Saidullaev’s people suffer from. The “ancestral home” is hidden from a curious eye by high iron gates. The gates open and we are let into a spacious yard crowded by fellows in camouflage, all of them strikingly tall and handsome. Everybody is carrying automatic rifles. The house itself looks like a castle. A small one, but a castle indeed. Everybody takes off their shoes on the snow-white steps that look like marble. On the terrace, the floors sparkle with the same marble whiteness and we are seated there on a large soft sofa. We are waiting in silence. I don’t know what exactly we are waiting for but prefer to refrain for asking questions. In a couple minutes, there is some movement in the yard, the “guards” step aside and a dark burly man with a short black beard and the inevitable camouflage comes up to us. He exchanges embraces with the newcomers, shakes hands with me and takes a deep armchair nearby. Resting his hands on his knees and never quite raising his eyes, he begins to speak quietly and monotonously. His voice is emotionless, almost toneless. The “guards” quietly approach the staircase and sit on the steps listening to their leader with silent respect. I will not cite all the monologue, which was sometimes broken by my questions, because the speaker did not say anything really new. It basically amounted to the following. The canceling of Malik’s candidacy is an arbitrary act, the federal center demonstrates its support of the Acting President, Kadyrov’s men commit outrages [we know much about it from the coverage of the Chechen election campaign by the central media]. The Supreme Court of the Russian Federation is yet pass its final decision concerning the cassation appeal of Malik Saidullaev, but the local television keeps emphasizing that Saidullaev quit the election race, and sometimes even adds that he withdrew his candidacy HIMSELF, understanding that Kadyrov is the only president for the Chechen people. The situation is critical. Beatings, violence, murders happen every day, especially where Saidullaev’s men are concerned, the heads and the workers of the campaign headquarters. [He cites several obvious examples which have already hit the news]. Roads are mined. A mine was set on Saidullaev’s route when he traveled to Grozny. All the cases have been sent to the Prosecutor’s Office but nothing has been done to investigate them, and the Minister of the Internal Affairs of the Republic is consciously slowing investigation. Kadyrov tries to bribe voters. And the people stand for Malik. The people will not bear it. Young people are flooding to the campaign centers to join the personal guards of Saidullaev. Nobody is recruiting them, they come on their own. Seven thousand people are already on a waiting list to join Saidullaev’ spersonal guard. If Kadyrov becomes President, Malik would need the protection, and they are going to form a wall around him. Do you see the situation?.. “Do you mean that, if Kadyrov becomes President and Malik Saidullaev is not allowed to participate in the elections, a civil war is going to break out?” I cut in, tired of absorbing his hasteless speech. “No!” The candidate’s brother suddenly looks up. “We cannot have any civil war in this republic. They will never see it. We have vendetta here.” “No matter what you call it — if it walks like a duck…” I think to myself. But there is neither time nor desire to start an argument. “I’d like to see your chief headquarters in Grozny, talk to the staff, have a glance at a couple documents you mentioned. You spoke of the polls which were conducted to estimate the public support for Malik… Is that possible?” “Why sit here, then? Let’s go.” Milan Saidullaev gets up. The “guards” rise to their feet in one motion. We go out to the back yard the security trailing behind us. A standard village outhouse is in one corner of the yard. The opposite corner has a cage with two huge furry bears rubbing their muzzles against the grating. One cannot be recall Kirill Troekurov’s estate from Pushkin’s famous story “The Captain’s Daughter,” but our host resembles another character — the protagonist — from the same literary masterpiece. The host gallantly throws open the door of his shiny Mercedes with toned, almost black windows. The windscreen boasts a huge portrait of Malik Saidullaev with a clean shaven face and thoughtful gentle eyes. The candidate’s brother takes the wheel and two men take the back seat. All the three in one synchronized gesture get out their pistols and jerk the locks. The “guards” jump into their jeeps. I happen to glimpse a bazooka — hadn’t seen one that close before. A thought flickers in my mind about the mine on the road, where that bazooka is obviously useless… We race on wildly accompanied by three jeeps with the security men. The jeeps boast the candidate’s portraits, automatic rifles are jutting out of the windows. In Alkhan-Yurt the cars hoot to welcome us and swerve to the side of the road, people wave their hands. The streets are decorated with posters featuring the candidate, his slogans. Inscriptions on the walls scream that “Malik is our president!” Posters, banners, graffiti — everything is in Russian. Milan Saidullaev hoots in response explaining that he is not Malik, of course, but he is welcomed as his brother’s representative. We rush onto the Rostov-Baku highway. Saidullaev’s men drive in the middle of the road literally throwing everybody else to the side. An hour ago, I saw how the federal servicemen travel on their personnel carriers. It’s all the same. Evidently, this is the way of the armed people here. We enter Grozny a few minutes later. The ruins of houses flicker past. There is almost no city here: there is nothing that we usually call a “city.” I saw many photographs of Grozny. My colleagues told me that the scale of destruction in Chechnya’s capital cannot be compared to Sarajevo or the most severely destroyed German cities after the World War II. But photographs and stories cannot prepare oneself for the real Grozny which is dead and alive at once. “Are you here for the first time?” Milan Saidullaev asks with a hint of mockery. I nod silently. The headquarters, located near the Oil Institute, are a small fortress too. A familiar crowd of armed people wearing camouflage meets us in its yard. I enter the premises. We are introduced. They explain that the election campaign is a farce, and, if Malik is not allowed to participate, it will be a total farce, and these elections are, actually, an operation of some special task force. Saidullaev has 26 campaign centers, including the center for work with young people and the center for contacts with religious leaders. The centers in Gudermes and Kurchaloi operate underground. Saidullaev cannot campaign now, but his campaign centers are neverhtless active. “What do you mean? Are they quietly collecting signatures?” “No. Why collect them? People bring them on their own. Today we already have 70 thousand signatures to support Malik.” “Did the people bring them all on their own?” “Certainly!” I ask see a couple of signature lists, and they give me a fresh stack of them. The column featuring addresses shows the same street address: #8, #8, #8, #9, #9, etc. So, individuals from all the houses in the street came to sign the list in an organized way? I don’t know why the campaigners do not admit that they made a tour of every yard, but it is useless to discuss it with them… The head of the campaign refers to certain polls. As a matter of fact, Kadyrov’s men conducted a poll before the withdrawal of Saidullaev’s and Aslakhanov’s candidacies which covered a thousand people in Grozny. It turned out that only 3% of the voters were going to vote for Akhmat-Hadji — an anonymous source brought this information to Saidullaev’s chief headquarters. And Saidullaev’s polls (he used village teachers as interviewers) conducted before Dzhabrailov and Aslakhanov left the race revealed the support for the candidate on the level of 65–70%, while today it exceeds 80%. I ask for the data of the polls. It turns out that it “is not quite processed” yet. I hear stories about attacks on campaign centers, on their workers, on like-minded people, stories about the readiness to protect their candidate and to defend themselves at every moment. Leaving the house I suddenly see one of my Moscow colleagues crossing the yard. We are so happy to see each other as if we were great friends who have not seen each other for a dozen years. Generally speaking, all the casual acquaintances from the “other life” rush to meet you here as if you arrived from the other world, or they themselves have already crossed the line of this world and you are an unexpected guest from the world of the living. I am not quite sure which of the two comparisons is more fitting. I explain to him why I came to Chechnya. “And what are you doing here?” He responds, “I was offered a job at Saidullaev’s election headquarters and refused. Then, they asked me if I did not want to help Chechnya get rid ot Kadyrov. I thought about it and agreed.” Do I understand his motives? We hug each other and part. On my way back, I examine the motley campaign materials of Kadyrov. Banners are everywhere saying, “We need a strong President — vote for Kadyrov!” “Kadyrov: pure intentions, strong power!,” I see posters with the same slogans and bright portraits of the Acting President of the Chechen Republic. And here is a famous enlarged photo where Putin and Kadyrov shake hands. We travel along the streets of the destroyed city with Akhmat-Hadji Kadyrov everywhere around us. With Putin. With a tractor. Against the background of mountains. Well, “do you want to work at Saidullaev’s election headquarters?” is one thing, and “do you want to help Chechnya get rid of Kadyrov?” is quite a different story. Back |
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