Женщины и дети: право на жизнь

Before the beginning of so-called «second» war on the territory of the Chechen Republic we lived in the Grozny city. In the 80th I had graduated one of the institutes in Moscow. I worked in agriculture and power supply system. I was not engaged in other kind of activities and commerce as well as politics. I was always loyal to law and order. In October of 1999, at the beginning of other military actions along with my family I moved to the settlement of Saadi-Kotar (Komsomolskoe) of Urus-Martanovski district, where I come from. My parents lived there.

We, Chechens, have big families, and our parents had 11 children (6 sons, 5 daughters) and now we all have our own families. As well as I, my brothers and sisters had taken out all property to Komsomolskoe, to the parents.

Here we all together spent the first months of the war. The military actions did not passed by our village. Several houses were destroyed in Komsomolskoe, there were some victims and wounded. In February of 2000 the checks of the passport regime were quite often. The village was completely blocked by troops and practically during two months nobody had been let in and out, except for women and old men.

On February 29 the regular passport check, or it was also called - «sweep operation» - was conducted in the village. About 20 Russian members of the special force task armed up to teeth burst into our courtyard. They entered the house with automatic machines ready to use and immediately began to shout at us: «All leave the house! All to the courtyard!».

Everyone was sent out to the street: the crying children, the sick father, who laid in bed with temperature, women and men. Nobody was asking us documents. They were interested only in household things, motor vehicles and so on. Everything was checked and probed, we heard each trifle: how utensils, furniture were being broken in the house, suitcases were being open. Two times I tried to go into the house to find out what was happening. I was threatened to be taken to the court yard and dump.

I remembered faces of these militiamen, «guardians of law and order»: malicious, alert and sweat. They operated very fast and constantly threatened us: «We will shoot you! We will set fire to the house!». When they were leaving, one of the servicemen tried to take away the Japanese TV, motivating that it supposedly had no documents.

After the mess made by «fighters with terrorism», it was impossible to enter the house. All things were left all over the place, scattered, broken, turned upside-down.

In the living-room these marauders in the uniform, possibly quite consciously, had crushed some boxes of detergent powder, had broken bottles of shampoo, had poured mineral water (bought for the sick father), had scattered newspapers, photos, documents, personal things. All packs with things, carpets, leather jackets – everything was cut with knifes. Legs of beds, tables and chairs were broken. It was difficult to orientate in the house, the impression was that an earthquake had happened here. The servicemen conducting the «sweep operation» had stolen the camera, gold watch, rings, various perfume accessories, the video-recorder and other things.

The 8th of March had come. I was woken up before a dawn by shots from automatic machines and machine guns. The shootings were seemed nearby, in the wood, behind the village. Intensity of the fight was not ceasing, but for some reason, it seemed to me, that it meant the end of the war. I thought that it was a peculiar salute of militaries, because on the previous day on TV it was said that the end would come soon. But for us, the residents of Komsomolskoe, it appeared to be the beginning of the real and severe war.

In the morning the first refugees appeared in the village: many of them went and ran together with children. Nobody knew clearly, what was happening. There were different rumors, and the number of refugees was continually increasing. It was necessary to wake the children up and to prepare for the worst.

Our neighbors with their children went out on the street and went to the edge of the village. I also decided to go with them while the family had not been woken up yet, and to learn what was happening. Ahead of me there was our neighbor Ruslan and his mother Zulpa, who was moving on crutches, his children were more further. When we were passing the bridge over the small river, the first shell broke off in 15 meters from us. It hit an acacia grown near the bridge. Its top was cut off as if with a knife. An air blast wave threw us aside and deafened. Zulpa was wounded, she was in blood. She laid bleeding profusely, and her frightened grandchildren laid down beside. I was thrown under the bridge, but I managed to grasp roots of the trees. There was a deaf ring in the ears. Only shouts of women, old men and children were heard…

Ruslan tried to help her wounded mother. I asked: «Where is she wounded to?». He answered something. In couple of seconds three more shells broke off a bit further. We all were in a panic. There was no time for thoughts. The next shell got directly into a shed of the nearest house and smashed it into chips. My 15-years nephew Suleiman was wounded. In couple of minutes the cannonade calmed down. Taking wounded people and children, we run to the edge of the village towards the location of the Russian checkpoint. There were a lot of people. Here I learned that fighters entered the village and military operations began. But for some reason the artillery started shooting not towards the fighters, but absolutely to the opposite part of the village.

At the checkpoint we addressed to militaries asking to allow us to send the wounded to the hospital. We were denied, referring to the order «from above» not to pass through anybody. Only closer to midday, after multiple requests and appeals we managed to achieve, that wounded people were sent to the hospital.

After that I went home at once. At that time there were my wife, five children, parents, three brothers and eight nephews. Urgently gathered, we along with the children ran out to the street and went.

Our gathering was urgent; we put some clothes and shoes on, and ran out to the street with the children. Ahead of me there was my younger brother with his family. Suddenly the strong cannonade began. Explosions of shells were quite close. The splinters flew with whine, destroying trees into pieces. The earth was shaking. We managed to run in a court yard of the house, into a refuge. My brother with his three children (everyone was of pre-school age) disappeared somewhere. It was dangerous to look out from the cellar as everything was swept with fire. There was a constant whine of flying bullets and splinters. We all thought that they died. It appeared that they managed to get to the neighboring court yard and hide in shelter.

Planes and helicopters appeared in the sky and they started their «work». The mass panic, calls for help, cry of children and women began in the village … Everyone, who could, ran expecting the worst because the events in the villages of Alkhan-Yurt and Kotar-Yurt were still fresh in mind.

My parents, as well as many other of our villagers, succeeded to leave the village only on the third day. It happened by miracle. And we even did not hope to see all of them alive.

A big stream of the people moved towards Urus-Martan, further from these shootings and the war. But on the checkpoint, near the channel, where a line of Russian fortification lied, we were stopped and forbidden to move further. Thus, the militaries had actually seized the peaceful population as hostages, collecting the people on the field, between themselves and fighters. We became a peculiar «alive shield» for them. In 15-20 meters from us there was a tank and it fired over the sights towards the village, over our heads, each time forcing people to bend down to the ground. After each shot the women and the children standing in the field started shouting and crying. And there were more than five thousand people there.

The artillery and salvo rocket artillery system «Avalanche» were beating from different directions to the village. Shooting continued day and night. We saw, how our houses were being blown up and burnt. The whole village was folded in dense cloud of fire and smoke. In fact, in there were still peace citizens in the village. Some of our relatives, two old men and the aged woman, who could hardly move, did not have time to abandon.

Here, on the advanced «position», waiting for a corridor, we stayed from 4-th till 9-th of March. On the very first day of our stay in the open air people began to channel off on the field searching for fire wood to set fire as children were frozen. The militaries did not like it and they opened fire from machine guns, automatic machines towards us forcing us to fall on the ground and search for shelters.

Several thousand people had to settle on a tiny plot of land, in icy cold, in the open air. People sat at the fire day and night, trying to warm up a bit. It was very cold. The militaries let only women to get water, and only one by one and after receiving of the official permission. Children started to feel worse; because of cold and malnutrition many of them had high temperature and got cold. Only after that the militaries «had mercy on» the people and allowed women and children up to 10 to leave.

The militaries constantly fired at towards the villages from mortars, machine guns and other type of weapons. And they shot over the heads of the people sitting in the field. Neither in the afternoon, nor at night the continuous shooting could stop. The impression was that they were shooting at us. Each second could be last one.

Planes, thrown off their killing cargo on the village, before flying away usually dived directly above us and so low, that it seemed that a little bit and they would be hitched on vehicles in the field and fall on the earth. I will always remember the 8-th of March, the international women’s day. That day planes pulled loops in the sky above our heads leaving a trace of smoke in the form of figure eight. Apparently, the «gallant» Russian pilots «congratulated» our innocent women.

At that moment I remembered the newsreel from Soviet times where American bombardment aircraft V-52 threw off the killing cargo on peace settlements of Vietnamese. I had such strong pain and compassion at that time.

Another dive of the plane just above the heads of the people. We automatically hugged the ground. May be, they received an order for elimination? Cast my thoughts to say goodbye to my family and relatives. Seconds. We were lucky again. The pilot had pity on us. After bombing the village, the plane disappeared in the sky. In some minutes new planes appeared.

We were standing, as if at the edge of the razor, pushed into a corner, as «an alive shield», between fire lines and silently observing. The firestorm ripped to matchwood our houses. All alive still remaining in the village was mercilessly being destroyed. The verdict was rigid and cruel. I remember that right at the beginning of the war, at one of the meetings in Urus-Martan which was attended by Russian Army’s command and heads of local administrations, the Chairman of the rural administration of the village of Komsomolskoe made a proposal to strengthen a pre-mountain part of the village. The general Shamanov interrupted him: «I will get down to you!» At that time I did not give the matter even a passing thought to his words. Now I have understood, what «the military general» meant by saying: «I will get down to that».

During our stay on «the Small Earth» my villagers Tsutsurgaev V., Kilaev A. had died, Bataev had been wounded and other two (I can not remember the names) had received heart attack. One young woman had delivered premature birth. During last three days before getting a corridor we saw, how military lorries with escort were leaving our village. At the beginning we thought that they were carrying detained fighters. But we learned soon, that the vehicles were carrying something different - the things stolen in village and house belongings. And the cars were leaving the village basically during the nighttime.

Even on the election day a big column of vehicles, loaded with boards, furniture, iron fences, armature, pipes, slate, bars, etc, left the village. In the neighboring villages, in particular, Martan-Chu, soldiers sold our things: cars, tractors, carpets, cattle, house utensils, audio-video equipment and foodstuffs bargain away (i.e. for a bottle of vodka). Militaries say, that «sweep operation of the village Komsomolskoe is taking place», but no single word mentioned about looting.

After granting a corridor, we could leave for the town of Urus-Martan. We settled down in the house at the edge of the village. We lived along with several other families - refugees. My 12-years son started going to school no. 7, where he continued studying in the seventh grade. After classes he sat down to do his homework. He read fiction. He was very inquisitive and was interested in everything. He liked listening stories of old people about old times. He liked watching telecasts. He dreamed to become an engineer. On the 23 of March he came home from school, cheerful and smiling, as always. He even did not have his lunch and ran to children who grazed cattle on the field. It was approximately in 300 meters from our house.

Approximately in 15 minutes after his leaving we heard a strong explosion. None of us paid attention to it because during the war you get used to explosions occur every day. But, it appeared, the most terrible thing happened.

In couple of minutes my younger brother arrived to the place of explosion. He did not find anyone at the place, where the children sat. He heard a weak groan, and in several meters he has found his nephew, four-years-old Magomed-Emin, who was hardly breathing. His son Hussein of the same age was lying next to him, with the disfigured face and opened belly. A bit further was 16-years Anzor, also our nephew. He was dead. The blast crushed his legs and belly. My 12-years son Valid laid further all than of them. During two days we searched for the lower part of his body. We found either fingers of feet, or pieces of bones, feet …

Approximately in ten minutes after parting I received the remains of my son put together into a blanket. I would never wish anyone to experience this feeling of pain and compassion to the child. Hussein was operated in the hospital, but it was impossible to save him. The 4-years Magomed-Emin was in the hospital. His leg was crushed and he received numerous wounds of the body and the face.

It appeared that on that day the children had found a toy. There was a military unit nearby and children, for some reason, went towards it, and then explosion had occurred. The same, which we heard and which carried away lives of my son and two nephews. And one more of my nephews became cripple for all his life.

About a week people visited us expressing their condolences, and I would like so much, that it was simply a bad dream. My heart could not believe that it had occurred. The murder of the children. What for? What had they done bad and to whom? What crime had they committed? Who will be responsible for it? They just wished to live and enjoy life…

After this incident, my daughter was afraid to go outside. It seemed to her that something similar would happen to her as well. She started often crying and complaining for pains in heart. She always asked where her brother was. And what could I answer her?

I still live with these terrible memoirs…

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