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English Language Page A long route — Grozny — Samashki — Achkhoj-Martan — Valeric — Gekhi — Urus-Martan — Argun — Tolstoj-Yurt — Grozny — we’ve done without a big effort. Together with my colleague on the monitoring escapade, we felt no major discomfort, except heat and dust. At 9:30 in the morning we left the capital to safely return by 6:30 p.m. We passed check-points with incredible ease. We met deliberately hearty welcomes at the polling stations. And a general feeling of nausea from the dirty farce, which the elections for President of the Chechen Republic was turned into, the boredom of lifeless streets and cheerleader-like chirping meaningless speeches of innumerable and awfully similar officials from time to time yielded to bouts of irrepressible hilarity in connection with this or that incident which obviously stood beyond good and evil. I cannot but share some of those stories with our readers — let them enjoy the carnival of the Chechen elections. * * * In the village Gekhi, which we reached around 1 p.m., our attention was attracted by a bus, next to a freshly painted fence. An APC was parked near the bus together with some other military cars. “Look, it seems we came across the “Yastrzhembsky tour.” Let’s go and see what kind of a show they managed to put together for the foreign press!” — says my colleague. “Yastrzhembsky tour” (called after Sergei Yastrzhembsky, President Putin’s aid) is organized especially for foreign journalists. They are carried throughout Chechnya on buses in a convoy, making stops in places chosen in advance. There, they are “released” (stepping away from the group is a no-no) to enjoy the decoration arranged for them, and then pushed back into the bus. And on they move — to yet another picturesque decoration. And that’s how they get to spend the whole day. We approached the gates and heard merry sounds of music coming from the other side of the fence. At presenting our press-passes, we entered a spacious and clean-swept yard swarming with journalists and security officers. It was difficult to say which of the two groups was more numerous. In the yard, the locals dressed in colorful costumes were playing traditional music, dancing and clapping hands. The action was being filmed by journalists. I took out my own camera — why am I any worse than foreign reporters? “Take some pictures, this entertainment is worth imprinting,” approved my colleague, contrary to me a professional journalist, and started moving through the crowd looking for some old friends among the press representatives. But suddenly security officers began to surround us. Strictly speaking, not us but me. My colleague was of no interest to them. I became a bit flustered, as I could not explain this increased attention to my humble person. “Your documents!” — roared a burly man. Seemed he was in charge. Smiling politely, I held out to him my journalist accreditation issued by the same office of Yastrzhembsky. It’s been working faultlessly so far. I was let in everywhere. Evidently, the respect to Mr. Yastrzhembsky in the Chechen Republic is very high. The chief of security twirled my magic accreditation in his hands for a long time and asked suspiciously: “You are a journalist? Came with the tour?” “No, we are journalists, but came on our own,” my colleague joined in the conversation. “How?” “What do you mean ‘how’? We have our own transport.” “This is not allowed! “— authoritatively stated Mr. Chief. “Why not?” “If you are journalists, please join the tour. And you’ll travel with security.” “What for? We do not need any special security arrangements. We’ll manage somehow by ourselves.” “It’s not allowed.” The ring of guards tightened. I completely lost all understanding of what was happening. “Stay here. I’ll be back,” — Mr. Chief left, looking back twice over his shoulder. “What’s the problem?” — flabbergasted, I asked all of them and no one in particular. And suddenly one guard packed in camouflage bent down to me and sympathetically whispered: “Hey, take off your headscarf, will you?” “Say again?” — my colleague and I repeated in unison. “Look, you came in here dressed in black, your hair covered with a shawl, so we took you for a suicide-bomber. Big resemblance.” Our hilarity was endless. In fact, I do look like a local. In Chechnya — a Chechen. In Ingushetia — an Ingush. In the streets, I am addressed in the local language. Naturally, I make a good use out of this resemblance. Put a long skirt on and blend with the landscape. But a suicide-bomber — now, this was for the first time ever. “A suicide-bomber with a photo camera? Great! No luck here, guys. But if you fret so, we’d better go.” To the silent approval of the guards, we made off very fast before their boss returned. We got into the car and drove further, relishing the details of the incident. The funniest thing was, our small adventure attracted the attention of two foreign TV journalists. Imagine if a news story in some remote country would be broadcast with a comment, “At the elections for President of the Chechen Republic, security officers identified a potential terrorist in a crowd of rejoicing Chechen villagers”… * * * We reached Urus-Martan fairly quickly, asked an unidentified person in an unidentifiable uniform how we could find the nearest polling station and, following his wise instructions, instead of the sought for polling station came directly to the Urus-Martan district election commission. Once we found ourselves there we decided to come in and explore. Finding out that we were Moscow correspondents, the commission’s members became quite excited. We asked them to take us to their boss and without delay we were led to an impressive office. There were two desks (forming a letter T) in the room, and an imposing man in a white shirt with dashing mustache was sitting in an armchair, as if presiding over the room. One of the staff of the commission respectfully bent down to him and whispered something in his ear. He stood up with a look of authority, shook our hands, and invited us to sit down. The office began to fill with men. Some of them were wearing name-tags— “observer for Akhmat-Hadji Kadyrov.” Who were the others remained a mystery. The owner of the office did not introduce himself, and we simply assumed that he was the head of the Urus-Martan election commission — after all, when we asked for a meeting with the boss we were brought directly to him. The commission head took the floor and made a speech about the good timing and the necessity of the presidential elections in Chechnya. That after the elections, competent local authorities would eventually come to control the situation and effectively cope with terrorism, extremism, and “international Wahhabism” (the last impressive term could not but raise admiration). And as soon as a new president takes the office, as soon as civil authorities are established and the situation is controlled by the local law-enforcement bodies, everything in the republic will go right. The war is over, but some secret Russian and foreign forces are still sowing discord and do not allow the Chechen society to consolidate. And becoming more specific, he shared his secrets with us. Apparently, as a historian by education, he knows that there exist two major forces, namely the Slavophiles and the Westerners. The Westerners suggest following the way of Western countries. And the Slavophiles — the way of Russia. The Westerners implanted the criminal privatization and started the Chechen war to destroy Russia. The excursus into the conspiracy theory was so lengthy and predictable that at some point I just stopped listening to the monologue and started thinking about something different. But my thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation uttered with a special pathos, “The new president will solve all these problems. I hope for it very much and connect the further consolidation in the Chechen Republic with Kadyrov and Kadyrov only.” Now, this head of the Urus-Martan district election commission is actually agitating the press for Kadyrov! “Do you mean that you personally support Kadyrov and want him to become president?” “Sure I do. I am his deputy-chief!” “Sorry?” “I am a deputy-chief of Kadyrov’s headquarter in the Urus-Martan district.” The local reality is so absurd that one isn’t surprised but rarely. This plot, however, was beyond our wildest expectations. To come to a territorial election commission, ask for a meeting with the head and be brought to see a deputy-chief of Kadyrov’s headquarters, comfortably occupying the office of the commission’s head and acticing like a boss. Laugh and sin. We did our best to wrap up the conversation: of conspiracy theories we were already aware, and what we wanted to see we saw. When leaving, we asked our vis-à-vis to give us his name. Otherwise how could we publish the interview with such a high placed person? Suddenly he looked suspicious. He probably understood that something was wrong. “My name is Wakhid. But please do not think wrongly. It is not that I spent all the time here, in the territorial election commission. I just passed by to look how they are doing.” Sure, my man without a family name! You simply stopped by. And we were brought to you by chance. “How curious! How bizarre! What a coincidence!” * * * In an hour or so, I unhurriedly spoke with the head of the election commission #7 in Argun, Tamara Khalidova. She told me with some regret about the excellent attendance of the referendum — 96%, and 50% of electors had voted by 1:30 p.m.— but today at 1:30 p.m. the turnout was only 29%. That means that the attendance won’t be as high as at the referendum. “And why do you think the attendance is lower compared with the referendum?” — I asked curiously. “Well, people are more afraid. Now, things are uneasy.” “So, in March it was more quiet than now, in October?” “Oh, no! Now it is more quiet than back then.” “And why then the people afraid more now?” “So… bad rumors… And all of us went united to the referendum. Because we all voted for ONE thing. And now there are seven candidates. For some people it is difficult to make a decision. They do not understand.” So, that’s the reason. Seven candidates — this is too much for an ordinary voter. Optimally, only one is needed. That one could not by chance be mistaken, or manipulated. However, most probably, nobody will be mistaken in any case. And if a few people make a wrong choice through sheer stupidity or delusion, someone will certainly correct the unfortunate blunder and put things right. * * * The last stop on our way was Tolstoi-Yurt, where Abdulla Bugaev, a candidate for President, was born and raised. In Tolstoy-Yurt people celebrated a wedding. And they came to the polling station #58. A real wedding! Groom and bride, relatives, a crowd of guests, music. The 18-years old bride wanted to celebrate simultaneously her wedding and her first vote. (A rather sordid PSA unwillingly comes to mind, the one which called young people to participate in the Russian federal elections in 1995: a boy and a girl in bed under a slogan, “You’ll never forget your first time!”) But the festive invasion on the polling station was not limited by the married couple and their ceremonial escort. They were quickly joined by Mr. Dokamaldaev, head of the Groznensky district, and Mr. Anasov, a representative of the Chechen government, and a few journalists. To the accompaniment of exultant cheers from the crowd, the government officials ceremonially handed over an envelope with some banknotes to the newlyweds — a present from the Acting President of the republic. (Let us recall that not long before the elections Kadyrov had promised money presents to the couples wed on October 5, as well as to the parents of babies born on that glorious day). Strangers at these awesome festivities, Mr. Bugaev’s watch dogs complained about this obvious violation to the head of the polling station, Bela Tsybaeva, a teacher at the school, in which the polling station #58 was placed. But Ms. Ztybaeva saw nothing wrong in what happened. She explained to us very convincingly that she did not know what was in the envelope. And generally speaking, there were so many people and it was so noisy that she could not see what was going on. “And a wedding, you understand, is a wedding! So many guests. And journalists filming the event. The bride is 18 years old. By the way —a former pupil of ours, now getting married and casting her vote for the first time. Two happy occasions on one day. Such a big day for her. We could not spoil it!” You are probably thinking — this absurdity has nothing to do with us? A lot of things happen in Chechnya — and everything is wrong. That’s Chechnya for you. But we do not have and could not have the same level of ludicrousness anywhere else. Wrong answer! At the press-conference in Grozny on 6 October, Seibshakh Shabiev, representative of the RF Central Election Commission, stated that the elections were conducted “in full accordance with the principles of rule of law and publicity” and added that he could “these elections can set an example to other candidates in other subjects of the Russian Federation.” The significance of this comment is more than clear. And we, by the way, will have all-federal parliamentary elections in December. And in March we will have the honor to elect the President of the Russian Federation. So, be ready, ladies and gentlemen. The scenario is well known. Back |
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