Rus Articles Journal

Answer to Zinaida Schultz of

Chapter 5 About criticism

Small retreat: as expected, - however, all this long ago not news to me, I almost got used - along with interest of the third-party readers and few readers from blue-eyed Belarus who read something from chapters 1 from my modest - whether memoirs, whether regional geographic supervision, - I continue to hear obviously dissatisfied indignation of so-called patriots or ex-patriots which sometimes passes, for me in not so clear, spiteful aggression with use of “rich and mighty“ the Russian abuse.

For the same who will try to remain adequate I would like to explain: I do not rank myself as istinoglagolets with a claim for purity of written at all - what told at the beginning about, and, continually, intellectually and is nearly guilty I continue to repeat: My work has character subjective, “backward“ - I do not undertake to argue on correctness or abnormality of a state system, I do not undertake to try to discover in each Belarusian natural and obligatory for all of them low or, on the contrary, sublime qualities of soul and heart, “branding“ the whole people. Even where can seem so, I write only about those people, places and events whom I knew and which participant in a varying degree was. I do not argue on “far America“, hanging labels of humility, rudeness or laziness on the whole people or, on the contrary, I praise some traits of character to skies. I write that I lived and I live - and as always I speak, from subjectivity shares, under the corner.

What can be not noticeable to the aboriginal of the city and country at all what he never thought of and that never concerned him, me as to the one who did not manage to acquire “wives, apartments and the necessary communications here yet“ who kept in himself “that, other spirit“ - bad it or good - the question second - can be evident, jar on, surprise, admire a lot of things. As to that “gentle“ American who after communication at a forum with the Russian girls was perplexed: “Why so aggressive Russian women? I just expressed the opinion, and in reply received a stream of strong language“ - and to the author a lot of things can be noticeable much better though he as this American also is perplexed: “Why people so are indignant, forbidding me to have the view of things?“.

I cannot get rid of chagrin that some continue to stay in captivity of the rusted Soviet propaganda installations: - not to take out litter from a log hut. Even if a log hut thin even if there the furnace not a toplena even if there was a murder - to say that everything is excellent. As Solzhenitsyn in 60 - e wrote: “One - our cruel and coward potayennost, from which all troubles of our country. We not openly to speak and write and to friends to tell that we think and as business &ndash was true; we also are afraid to trust paper“. That is, such “true patriots“ see not worse than the observant author that plants work which - as, and see as clear as day that the television lies, or, for example, the fact that the common sense is brought to please to everyday stupidity, but, with unclear from where the undertaking just indignation, undertake to approve the return, instructively teaching the author: “Ouch - ouch - ouch, the author as it is not a shame to you! “. And it has to is a shame not to author to be: he, at least, writes as thinks and even if he is mistaken, then does not go against conscience, and on a string of the small interests, cowardice and hypocrisy. And here such patriots remind me the angry grandmother who was unintentionally pushed around, and she - in shout: “Guard! Plunder! Already force!“. Or my watchwoman from the previous chapter to which with fear seemed at first beaten furniture and windows, and then and “was sekshuat by a harassment“ “out of the blue“.

Other weighty reproach - narcissism of the author. So, this work also reflected - as simple, ironic reminiscences, recent playful memoirs if you want and how to write memoirs not from the first person - I do not know yet. Yes then, in plain terms: any writer or the poet always writes about themselves as this best, reliable writing. Reflexes. Reflects, passing the world through itself - even when writes from the third party. Unless the count Bolkonsky and Pierre Bezoukhov in “War and peace“ are not Lev Tolstoy? And Remarque`s heroes - not Remarque? And unless Solzhenitsyn throughout the works does not write constantly about himself? About the world? About the experiences? From where here such surprise and reproach? …

The right bored me to explain, even educated and, most likely, to fairly clever readers that they, readers, I have the right to reproach me with lack of own style. In a heap of grammatical and punctuation mistakes. In weakness of the subject line. Yes in anything. Even in what I in general am not capable to write. But to reproach me that I “feel that and I think“ because it is necessary to think and feel here so, here is how, as they are already some inadequacy with deja vue signs from Soviet period.

“How to you the place where you work is not a shame to throw mud? “. You know, bitterly. But it is not a shame. Because if I see nepotism and barefaced protection - and them, believe, I learned to distinguish - I tell that: this nepotism, is protection. And from it it is unpleasant to me, at least, because I, unfortunate, was brought up differently. Or, if I go across the territory of neighbour`s plant and I see balls of the bent scrap metal, a lot of construction debris and gloomy workers who complain to me that the salary hardly is enough for utilities and “a cup with a shkvarka“, and there is nothing any more, and they are forced to say to the administration that all “in an order, everything normally and thank you, darling, Ivan Ivanych“, then I do not think: and here in Africa and that it is worse. In Africa hunger. I think: it - garbage, and it - sad human being. And it is compelled, habitual as the second skin, hypocrisy and lie. And me from it it is sad. Sorry, my silly heart gives rise from these pictures to such feelings, but not feelings of triumph from the fact that “Ur, we still work! To us still something is paid! We are still living!“.

For some reason lie there is a wish to call “lie“. And cruelty - “cruelty“. And intrigues - “intrigues“. And many teach me that all this is called that in a different way.

Will lock - in the form of criticism, including from people of intellectual professions - on own feelings and thoughts what the ban to commit them to paper follows from, in a desirable form, - the worst of what I should hear here. Refuse to the author the right to think as in it it is inherent. To it refuse to feel “from the belltower“ (and unless all of us have not belltowers, and there is one high and “correct“?) . To the person tore off a leg a shell and he cries out with all the might: “Oh, blya! Boughs! Painfully! Mother!“. And to it in an ear: “Blya and boughs - obscene words. They should not be said. Painfully - too it is forbidden. You spoil image of the Soviet fighter. Mother - too, a weakness sign“. “And what that is possible, blya?!“ - the fighter is exhausted. “And it is possible to sing patriotic songs, for example. “Katyusha“, there. Or anthem of the Soviet Union“. And I hear the same: “Belarus - not such as you write. It is fine. And people its hardworking, wise, kind“. Yes I agree. But sometimes I want: “Blya! Boughs! Painfully!“.

And these freaks - installations nest in a great lot of minds. Even my closest people think so. They did not squeeze out from themselves the slave, do not know what is it, and hardly once learn. They quietly, in kitchen, or in a bath shepotets scold the administration, the authorities, neighbors, but they never have courage and conscience to make it at least once to destination. No, to destination, they speak and do at all not as they want, it is necessary and it is peculiar and as from them wait for those whom they secretly abuse, despise, to be afraid. And even, when you have enough conscience to make time as it, conscience, you orders, they, these dear people do the surprised frightened eyes. They begin to reproach you, to abuse, cry. They even hate you because the piece of bread is more expensive to them, let also stale, than all truth of the world combined.

My colleagues and acquaintances are courageous only on the way home, behind a glass of beer or in a bath in own yard. And almost never happen so brave before own conscience where it is necessary.

I remember the colleague with whom we worked side by side three years. I knew it. She knew me. So it seemed to me. Its usual manner with the administration was fawning, it was that cricket who precisely knew the perch. Insults, including, and obscene, it took down silently and always. Cavils and claims in the address - fair and absolutely unfair - were for it a usual thing. She was able to pay a compliment to the administration, to silently swallow offense and is in reply guilty “to wag a tail“ as a doggie that just got under legs. And me personally, green in all this Belarus - corporate kitchen (and why “groundless - Belarusian“? Yes at least because at some representatives of other nations and the people of the similar atmosphere it was not observed) her servile behavior was not absolutely clear and pleasant. But at the end, when also I was already assured in it as in some other, the semi-slave dear (it not an insult, and dry ascertaining without intention to offend), the person suddenly did not sustain. Cracked. And what she told privately with colleagues and at home about what she thought of and what neither her conscience, nor soul agreed with in any way, poperlo from it. That slave got. As shit from the sewerage at what in all cracks, also it appeared outside in some ten minutes. Ten minutes of shout to that high administration which obikhodno and habitually held it for “Manka“, called “blyadyyu in a brothel“, “obezjyany, pressing the buttons“, for all that humiliation, for the compelled servility, for all disrespect. The slave got out outside, stood up straight and gave on a muzzle to the mister.

Of course, she was immediately dismissed. The corresponding formulation was picked up. Once friendly colleagues stopped being so friendly. But where here Belarusian phenomenon? - you ask. Unless the same does not occur daily at one hundred Russian, Ukrainian, American enterprises - however, American here will hardly approach - the petition, and the employer will have that is called a pale appearance. But in the others that, similar behavior, - routine. Established, and not the worst, practice (but there is a work). And Belarusian here the fact that if Russian, with feeling of elementary advantage, the hard worker, against such injustice, shows some activity and will not give itself to mordovat, and Ukrainian will send “sir“ further away and will freely make to it not smaller row, without falling from it into a subconscious state from “impudence“, and at the American it in general is impossible, then for the patient Belarusian it - norm. Norma to suffer. It - that horse who will bring everything. And, as in that parable about a nail on a chair, on it will sit, suffer, but to think “Geta and a treba“.

From here and “belorusskost“. It is possible to write abstrusely and oskomno about Mir Castle Complex and Bialowieza Forest, about purity on the Belarusian small streets and about peacefulness of the Belarusian people. All this is, and about all these fine qualities of the Belarusian soul, as well as about many others, I narrated in the first three parts. But the coin has also other party, garbage which is preferred to be stored under a carpet. Why not? Everyone has to have an option.

One more, very much for me an important point: in my opinion, the writer should not write, somehow to the reader. As it will be pleasant to that to see himself and others. What to say how to look. Otherwise the fiction will turn out. Hollywood. Pulp fiction. Imagine the same Solzhenitsyn painting GULAG with paints which to us will not cut eyes and will soothingly affect them as the reader often wants. Present Remarque not with the “trench truth“ as he endured it, and with that that was waited from it and his heroes by their contemporaries, that is those who about that war knew firsthand. Swift, Gogol, Chekhov. What would turn out? The writer is obliged to write as he sees and feels. It is the indicator. It - a criterion. It - the truth, let also subjective.

The Russian wants to read that its nation great and exclusive. That it has Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky. A victory in Velikoy Otechestvennoy and Yury Gagarin. Ballet and space rockets. Mysteriousness of soul and its generosity. In total so. But the Russian person still has a GULAG and Stalin. Corruption and vegetation of the majority. The present, become habitual aggression and xenophobia.

The Ukrainian wants to read that his nation cheerful and free. That it has Shevchenko, Lesya Ukrainka and Gogol who Russian has also. Same Victory. Kiyevo - Pechersky monastery. Hospitality and kindness. And too it is right. But there are also the Ukrainian greed and untidiness. Political squabbles and alcoholism.

The Belarusian has a Bialowieza Forest, “Pesniary“, BelAZ. Peacefulness and patience. Accuracy and modesty. But also: excessive humility, facade and zabyurakratizirovannost. And I would like to speak about it aloud. But not as pleasantly some.