The shirt is always closer to a body and again about Avhan thanon February 15 - as it is known, Day of a conclusion Soviet troops from Afghanistan. At the same time it and Day of memory of the dead there, and all whom that war concerned. It concerned and me as however, and all then Soviet people, of course, not directly, and indirectly, forcedly. At first having interested in the boy, and even having forced to envy those at whom fathers and brothers fulfilled an international duty there - so fine they looked with the weapon in photos, so much interesting told and brought. And then, matured and which - that understood in life and war, forced to hate. And to crown it all, to be perplexed. Probably, for the rest of the natural.
To be perplexed to the fact that along with clear human feeling, commemoration of all there died, and also all those who escaped, returned, besides a mourning melody of bitterness of loss and grief on singed by that war, basisty notes of pride, confidence in that sound, as in the future “let`s not bring“.
To be perplexed that improbable cacophony of thoughts and feelings flying from eloquent lips of those who directly participated in that war, and those “mighty“ theorists at whom milk on lips did not dry yet. To that cogitative mess in which there is a place to both “victorious“ figures, and military valor, and the shown courage, and the fulfilled duty.
“Ours fifteen thousand, and Mujahideens and their allies lay down one million there. It means that we not only carried out the task, did not leave with a shame, and, on the contrary, with honor and valor executed the order“ - one soldier - the internationalist writes.
“In Afghanistan the Soviet Union resisted not only to Mujahideens, but also all West. There we protected the borders, tested the new weapon, showed to the West that we the great power“ - here that disturbs another.
“Our fathers, husbands and sons went there to provide us, their wives and children, with apartments, all necessary“ - the soldier`s wife - the internationalist writes.
“Afghanistan was always a nursery of drugs. The barbarous, wild country in which we should have been at war more rigidly, more ruthlessly“ - still someone is frank.
Having thumbed through the first thirty pages on the Internet, devoted to that war, I catch myself that at me hair bristle from what I there, at enough educated representatives of the human race, read. Pride of the great power and nostalgia on the lost greatness. The mathematical equations, calculations, heartless oppositions of military vehicles of the USSR and the West in which we are the winner always. Abuses of the USA for same “Avhan“, and at the same time for Vietnam, Korea, Grenada etc., and a glorification of the nearly charitable mission, in war against savages, drugs and the West.
Notes of a certain priest who justifies this smertoubiystvenny war, declaring on behalf of the god that it was so necessary for him, and we have nothing to be ashamed. Recognitions of some colonel in resignation that “yes, and children, happened, killed, both women, and old men, and many civil died“ and that “so it was necessary“. The woman writes (I quote): “And whether you, the greenhorn know that to buy a shitty wall or the TV, our husbands were forced to go there?! “ … I meet by
Among this verbal bacchanalia, this den of the thoughts, ideas and feelings, among quite clear and natural condolences, memoirs and commemorations of the dead all singed by that war only one mentions of those whom there, intentionally, it is casual or as still differently, killed. Collateral damage. Civil losses. Even approximate numbers are not given. Anywhere.
Who these people? Who created them? How they arranged the head? Whether there is heart? And soul? Why among a great lot of books, movies and newspaper articles about Avhan, at memorial evenings, in speeches from high stands, I do not meet repentance anywhere before to what earth we came against whom were at war who was killed? Why at us it is not told anywhere and the truth is not written that the huge number of the poor, illiterate, appeared in hostages civil, died in this senseless war? Why it is not told about two million refugees running to Pakistan in the first days of war? Why it is not told about the whole families undermined and shot just by mistake?
Why our attitude towards them, there, as haughty as my acquaintance, the cleverest person writes: “They always were wild and uneducated, ready to die and kill. There is nothing to be sorry about them“. Why we still lie, we lie to ourselves and others, about “the help to fraternal people“, about “kindergartens and hospitals“, “precautionary blow for which we were compelled“? Military tactics, geopolitics. And where our humanity?
What is still remarkable, so it is paradox of mind and heart. A collision of common sense and extreme, self-destructive nonsense - sacrifice of many Russians. On the one hand great crying on innocently murdered, to boys, husbands and sons, it is not clear for what to the dead. Compassion to war by singed. Hatred to governors. Potryasaniye a fist to everyone who thinks differently. And with another - education of new generations, the sons, in the same, seems inevitable, Russian spirit of self-sacrifice. In the spirit of the same great ideas of war. Alas, not the world. Preparation in minds and hearts to new Afganam and Chechnyam. (There was the first Chechen with the same not fired boys). In my opinion, ourselves are directors of the cruel destiny, the inevitable karma. And then we need to mourn only the nonsense which, as we know, costs dearer all on light.