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English Language Page Usam Baisaev, “Memorial” Human Rights Center To be frank, I had certain doubts about the electoral intents of Chechen refugees when I was making my way to their tent camps located in Eastern Ingushetia. A painful question was permanently on my mind, “What if people tired of uncertainty, dashed hopes and multiple disappointments of many years would buy the empty promises of officially approved candidates?”When cornered, people may believe in the supernatural, in a miracle. A “what if…” thinking pattern may work, which resembles a reflex (does not require any thinking) — because there is actually nothing left which calls for deliberate comprehension… In pre-election Chechnya this thinking mode looked a bit differently, “After all he is a Chechen like us, maybe…” Such could be the way some potential voters were trying to convince themselves, meaning Akhmat Kadyrov of course. Very few were counting on his moral, political or personal virtues. During more than four long years (even the Great Patriotic War was shorter!) he failed to stop the blatant bloodshed into which the republic plunged not without his involvement. He didn’t even try to. What was seemingly left to hope for was that after his inauguration as president he would recall that he is part of his people and feel ashamed of the crimes perpetrated against his country fellows. And many a man must be ready to grasp at this... not even a straw but a shadow of a straw… Or am I wrong? * * * The “Memorial” Human Rights Center officially distanced itself from all the events related to the elections of the “first President of the Chechen Republic.” We even decided against our routine monitoring which could be easily labeled observation by the authorities. So, it was solely my own initiative that brought me to the tent camps. I wondered what the conduct of my compatriots would be in a situation when other candidates surely at least as popular as Akhmat Kadyrov and enjoying real chances of being elected, were cynically and insolently removed from the race. To put it simpler, I wondered whether the refugees would show up at the voting places nevertheless… Together with Ruslan Badalov, head of the human rights organization “Chechen Committee for National Salvation,” who sold me the idea of such a trip, we identified the camp “Bart” in the town of Karabulak as our first destination. “Bart” is the biggest and best kept-up camp around here. Of all the refugees, “Bart” inhabitants are the most catered to by the authorities —both local Ingush and Federal. That is the place which has seen Lord Judd and other less important international and domestic officials whose positions call for a demonstration of how well people in the camps are looked after. Murat Zyazikov, President of Ingushetia, was also among those who would visit the camp — normally after another attempt to persuade the refugees to go home which would trigger a new wave of indignation on the part of human rights NGOs and international community. Having arrived at the camp, Zyazikov would utter some unquestionable stock phrases into TV cameras about inadmissibility of violence and coercion with respect to those who had lost shelter and property. Then turning to people who gathered around he would ask, “Did anyone force you to leave Ingushetia?” The answer which follows is obvious. Then federal TV channels would show this to outbalance “mud slingers of Russia…” Refugees who became pawns in someone else’s propaganda game were willingly and ably playing up to the bureaucrats. They even learned to benefit from this show. At “Bart,” unlike other camps, humanitarian aid is issued regularly by the migration authorities. Until recently, there have been no attempts to move anyone from here openly using force. Generally speaking, if some Chechen refugees have ever stated that their life in Ingushetia is good, and Russian authorities lose their night sleep from worry about the poor and humble displaced people, be sure those refugees live at the “Bart” camp in Karabulak. Ruslan Badalov and I arrived there at 10.30 a.m. There was a gray UAZ jeep without the license plate on the road leading to the camp. Not very far from the UAZ vehicle, its passengers were wandering — those were servicemen, stoutly-built, masked and clad in camouflage uniforms with all the war-time paraphenalia. At the lowered bar of the camp entry check-point there were several parked cars — only pedestrians were allowed in. We left our car by the check-point too and produced our IDs, which were thoroughly scrutinized. Then, we proceeded to the tents. Amidst gloomy grayish camp reality there was a red Mercedes coach parked at the administrative barracks. The impression was that the coach had just left a Hollywood film-making site. The license plate Ñ 317 ÌÀ proved the contrary — the coach was a local one, registered in Ingushetia. But the windshield sticker featured eight big letters: UDM MVD ChR. This ciphered inscription meant: Migration Department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of the Chechen Republic. This red Mercedes was supposed to be used to carry crowds of refugees to fulfil their civil duty. Their voting place was located in the Chechen village of Assinovskaya, not far from the administrative border between Chechnya and Ingushetia. But there was very little activity near the coach — only some men in the military and police uniforms. We looked into the coach to count the passengers therein. They were nine — six women and three men. Some more were standing nearby waiting for the coach to depart. A conversation started quite naturally. Two of the people, a boy of about seventeen and a mature man, were from the village of Sernovodsk where they wanted to go for a visit with their relatives. “You are going to ride in this Mercedes?” I asked them. “Yes,” answered the man. “It is going to Assinovskaya. We shall get off at the turn and move on to our village. It is only three kilometers. We'll make it somehow.” “We shall not vote, don’t think we will,” joined in the teenager. “I was not planning to go home but they sent the coach. It’ll take me almost right to my house. And no need to pay. That’s not bad to get through all the check-points without producing any ID and riding a Mercedes on top of that, is it?” Four more people came up to the coach. Two of them, a mother with her teenage son, decided to “mix with the crowd” and visit their home in Assinovskaya. A perfect arrangement indeed. The woman, who introduced herself as Rumisa, even planned to use the same coach to get back to the camp. “The polling station is said to be located in the school building, quit close to my father’s house,” she said. “While people are voting we shall take some food to my parents and show them their grandson. They haven’t seen the boy for ages. And then, back to the camp.” At 11.00 a.m. the Mercedes left the camp and was heading towards Chechnya carrying twenty four passengers… or voters? I don’t think terminology is of any importance here. * * * From “Bart” we proceeded to the village of Ordzhonikidzevskaya without any layovers at small tent camps or places of refugees’ compact residence. On the outskirts of Ordzhonikidzevskaya, very close to the Chechen border, there are larger camps: “Satsita,” “Sputnik” and the remnants of “Alina.” Another major camp — “Bella” — was liquidated through the heroic efforts of Federal, Chechen and Ingush authorities on the eve of the “elections.” The only road leading to the camps was blocked by the Ingush police. We were lucky — together with us, from the opposite side of the check-point, three big coaches pulled up. The coaches stopped, the drivers got out and were approached by several men in plain clothes and policemen from the check-point. All of them entered the service building. We were kind of overlooked and, while passing through the abandoned check-point, could see the vehicles (two “Ikarus” coaches, model 256, plate numbers Ñ 399 ÂÎ and Ñ 932 ÅÅ, and a LiAZ Ñ 675 ÀÒ), windshields showing the same eight eloquent letters evidencing their belonging with the Migration Service of the Chechen Ministry of Internal Affairs: “ UDM MVD ChR.” The first two coaches were empty. We couldn't see how many passengers were in the third one: curtains were drawn on all the windows. But if there had been anyone inside they would have opened curtains on at least one window, but they didn’t. Our guess proved to be right when we reached the camp “Sputnik” whose refugees the coach was supposed to be taking to the polling station. The refugees that we interviewed unanimously stated that not a single person from their camp went to vote, and that the LiAZ coach, which left the camp, was empty. No one in the other nearby camps expressed any desire to go to Assinivskaya to vote, neither the refugees, nor the administration personnel, nor the police who were numerous at the camps and around them. On the contrary, many of those we talked to found our interest towards the “event” rather strange. Some were asking a rhetorical question: why should they go anywhere risking their lives at the check-points and giving up their household chores when the outcome was clear long before the election day? Nevertheless, Ruslan Badalov managed to find one person who was surprised by the lack of active involvement with the elections. A closer scrutiny revealed that this person was a police major on sent to Ingushetia from Dagestan — which is symbolic in itself. But when Ruslan asked him to imagine he is one of the people who lost all their property as a result of war whom the authorities are now trying to drive out of the tents granted by international humanitarian organizations, the major after a minute’s pause said, “If I were them, apparently I wouldn’t have gone… anywhere.” I seemed to me that had this major been a Russian we would have heard a more colorful language. These three coaches were parked near the administrative barracks of the camps “Satsita,” “Sputnik” and “Alina” till 11.45 a.m. Having realized that there was no one eager to “fulfill his or her civic duty,” they went to the check-point to join the police and the representatives of the migration authorities of Chechnya and Ingushetia responsible for refugees’ voting. It was them that we saw when crossing the check-point. After our departure when the coaches returned to the camps to stand by in case some journalists or observers show up — you see, people are still ready to go voting “for the First President of the Chechen Republic,” and the authorities are prepared to take them to the ballot boxes. The coaches were waiting all in vain till till 5.30 p.m. Well, they shouldn’t blame anyone but themselves: they should have sent a Mercedes to those places as well – one cannot afford to be greedy under the circumstances… But on the other hand, such a trick probably wouldn’t have worked at “Alina,” Satsit” or “Sputnik. * * * But at “Bart,” as we found out on the way back, another fifteen people expressed their desire to go to the polling station. The total number of persons the Mercedes carried to Chechnya was 39, including those who merely used the opportunity to go home in comfort and safety. Nevertheless, we have to admit that it was some result, and not the worst one — bearing in mind the fact that no one went to vote from the other camps. But there is also a different result — the official one. According to the official information, 1,241 forced migrants residing in Ingushetia, cast their votes during the October 5 elections. Where and how those additional 1,202 people voted remains an enigma to me. They must have voted in a different, better world. Back |
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