“Even if there weren’t any war, the economy would collapse anyway,” I try to convince him.
“Maybe,” he replies, but I can see that he hasn’t changed his opinion. So we change the subject to talk about the furrowed roads that even without the war look like they have been hit by missiles. On top of that, they were recently damaged by tanks. “You haven’t seen anything like that,” he says with a smile when we are hitting the bumps and bouncing.
For those who keep shouting about “hearing” what Donbas is saying, Yanukovych is a taboo subject. “What does Yanukovych have to do with this? ‘They’ are the ones who are in power,” says a man in Donetsk. I respond that they have been in power for a few months, and they have to deal with the war. How is it possible under such circumstances to stabilize the situation? “They should have thought about it before the Maidan,” he concludes.
It was the “voice of Donbas” that turned into the breeding ground for the so-called federalists. “We want the governors and the regional authorities to be elected by us,” says seventy-five-year-old Natalya from Donetsk. Gathering momentum, she throws in the judges. “We know these people better, so we know if they will be fit for the job. In Kiev they don’t have any idea about it,” she remarks. For several years who got named to power in Kiev was decided by representatives from Donbas, but she hardly pays any attention to this.
The myth that it is Donbas that feeds and supports Ukraine, that if it weren’t for them all the people would starve to death, makes this outrage even greater. Somehow, no one is asking what Ukrainians have been eating in recent months, when in many places in Donbas the harvest was impossible, transport was stalled, and the majority of the companies were closed by the separatists.
“Federalism” has become a slogan that somehow stuck to the residents, but nobody knew what was behind it. Usually, it was associated with Russia. “I am for federalization, that is—for Russia,” one man tells me, standing in front of the administration building in Donetsk. Others have seen a social question in it. Still others don’t know what to see in it, so they simply shouted. Yevhen Nasadyuk, a Donetsk journalist and theater director, tells me that during a pro-Russian demonstration in front of the administration building, some skirmishing with the police took place. The crowd started chanting: “Those in power have to respond” (Vłast k otvietu). The first time, the second time. By the third time it sounded like “Power to the cutlet” (Vłast kotletu). With smiles on their faces, the crowd kept chanting, unaware that they have just created one of the most interesting political slogans of the Russian Spring.
4. THE SEPARATISTS’ FIRST CAPITAL
“VLADIMIR VLADIMIROVICH, WE are a small provincial town in the Donetsk region that is under attack from fascists and imperialists of all kinds and nationalities. They kill our brothers and hurt our citizens. They carry on military actions against our people. Therefore I would like to turn to you, Vladimir Vladimirovich: I ask you to consider, as soon as possible, bringing in a peaceful military contingent that would protect peace-loving residents of the Donetsk, Kharkiv, and Luhansk regions from the aggression of Right Sector and the National Guard. They represent nothing but death. They want to turn us into slaves, they don’t talk to us but simply kill us.” Thus states the “people’s mayor” of Slovyansk, Vyacheslav Ponomarev, during the press conference on April 20, 2014. On that day there had been a shooting at one of the militants’ checkpoints. The supposed attacker was the Right Sector.
I arrive in Donetsk in mid-April in the morning. From there I try to go further—to Slovyansk. You can buy tickets without any problems. The train is almost empty. There are a few people in the car: a married couple traveling to Dnipropetrovsk, three other journalists—two Belarussians and one Pole—and Maya, a forty-year-old supporter of the Donetsk People’s Republic.
“The train is not stopping in Slovyansk. The station is closed. The nearest stop is Krasnyi Lyman,” explains the conductor. He asks us if we want to go. Do we have an alternative? After all, it is easier to reach Slovyansk from Krasnyi Lyman than from Donetsk. This is important for the journalists. And it is easier to reach Kramatorsk where Maya is headed. From time to time Maya joins the conversation to tell us about the successes of the “volunteers,” whom she is enthusiastically cheering on.
“Not bad. They have taken the side of the nation,” she says, commenting on the news that part of a Ukrainian landing force has joined the separatists. Maya has no doubts that Donbas should become part of Russia. “This is our future,” she declares.
After three hours we get off the train in Krasnyi Lyman. We walk a few steps away when we hear the conductor shouting: “Things have changed, we are going to Slovyansk after all! Come back!”
We occupy the same seats again and drag on for one more hour. The entire trip from Donetsk to Slovyansk took four hours. The day before an express train had gotten there in an hour.
Slovyansk, with its population of slightly more than one hundred thousand residents, is a perfectly stereotypical post-Soviet city. It is ugly, gloomy, and totally uninteresting. What may make it distinctive are the nearby salt lakes that tourists seeking relaxation used to visit. Another distinguishing feature is Sviatohirsk with its Russian Orthodox monastery. It was made famous by Viktor Yanukovych who would go there to pray.
“When everything is peaceful, you have to go there. This is a wonderful place, but you only show the worst,” one of the residents encourages the journalists.
“We will definitely go,” I reply together with the other reporters, but it is very unlikely that we will go back to Slovyansk soon after all these events.
The city’s main public space, October Revolution Square, combines everything that represents the post-Soviet ideological mishmash. What stands out first is the Lenin monument. It isn’t as impressive as the monuments in other large cities. Lenin in Kharkiv is proud, with his chest stuck out and his arm stretched forward. Monumental, placed on a high pedestal with his head raised, he looks inspired. He convinces you that such a leader should be followed to the other end of the world. Lenin from Slovyansk is so… unsure. Nothing about him resembles an intellectual or revolutionary. He stands there in his flat cap and buttoned-up coat. He has one hand in his pocket. In the other hand he holds a piece of paper. He appears completely unremarkable. There is an Orthodox church on his right. Its golden cupolas are shining. It gives the impression of being the newest building on this square. There is the City Council behind Lenin—a huge modernist grey concrete lump, like so many others in the former Soviet Union.
The square is surrounded by places to eat and drink, shops, and banks. This concrete space is lightly garnished by a little bit of green and benches. Each bench has a small plaque attached with the information that it was sponsored by Deputy Oleksiy Azarov, the prime minister’s son. Thanks to Oleksiy the residents can also enjoy wireless internet. Of course, before you get connected, a window pops up and you know whom you should thank for this technological marvel. The icing on the cake is a brightly painted rooster in a glass coop standing on the square. On Independence Day in 2013 in Kiev this rooster represented the city during the rooster parade. Evidently, the city authorities liked it so much they decided to keep it. Now it proudly presents itself on the main square.