Anna Politkovskaya was killed in Russia after - because we use these words in this context - having witnessed the atrocities of the Chechen war. She was killed not because he has told the Chechen war, but because she managed to make the problem of Chechnya is a problem in the world, because she managed to make the problem of Chechnya is a problem of humanity, that has become a problem in Rome, London, of Washington, Mexico City, no longer an issue lost in the news every day. This has made her a witness, something more than a courageous reporter.
She tells of amazing things: Do you remember when they were seized in a school hundreds of children she has collected the testimonies of many survivors of Beslan mothers, the seizure made by the Chechens in a Russian school. Terrifying tales. And I mention only one: at some point the Chechens collect teachers, professors, certainly including mothers, and their students in an area of \u200b\u200bthe gym at this school. Confine any classes with taut wires that hang grenades: therefore they are telling them not to move, because se un bambino cerca di scappare o fa un gesto violento, si spezza il filo e cade la granata. Così sono tutti fermi e costretti a non bere e a non mangiare: tra l’altro era estate e c’era molto caldo. A un certo punto un bambino molto piccolo inizia a piangere, perché aveva molta fame; una madre, una professoressa che era da poco diventata madre, aveva da poco sgravato, quindi aveva ancora latte, dice al bambino di attaccarsi al seno, ma il bambino è grande, si vergogna, non lo fa. Allora lei prende una scarpetta di questo bambino, cerca di versare il suo latte dentro, ma la suola assorbe il latte e quindi non va bene. Allora per puro caso, riesce a trovare, perché lo sapeva, in un cassetto di un armadietto che stava proprio nella sezione dove erano stati ammassati, un cucchiaio. Riempie di latte questo cucchiaio e inizia a dare il latte a questo bambino e poi a tutti i bambini che, per fame, perdono ogni inibizione e bevono questo latte. Se ne accorge un guerrigliero, fa saltare la granata: la maggior parte di questi bambini muore. Cala il buio in questo enorme stanzone e uno dei bambini si sente addosso cibo, in realtà era il sangue del bambino che gli era accanto, a cui era esplosa la testa; ma la maestra dice: " Non ti preoccupare hanno fatto saltare una bomba, si è rotta una credenza e ci è caduta addosso la marmellata ". E il bambino dice: " Io odio la marmellata ".
Questo racconto che è terribilmente atroce, traccia the testimony of the humanity in that situation: there is always the best way to be human, there is always a way to save what Nabokov said that the best form of human being, namely the child.
And Anna Politkovskaya, when he went to make his stories, told this: telling the opportunity to be men, and the ability to tell how man came into the abyss in this situation.
She is killed before being killed and becomes tainted. His terror, more fundamental reason was to be vilified, was what his image was destroyed. When she is killed, is interviewed her ex-husband who says: "Better così ". Una risposta molto dura, molto pesante. Dice " Sì, perché poco prima avevano tentato di sequestrarla, di narcotizzarla e di fare degli scatti osé, pornografici, con degli uomini, per poterla diffamare, fotografarla mentre era narcotizzata per distruggerne l’immagine. Chi avrebbe creduto nel mondo che quelle immagini erano state costruite? " Allora lui dice:" Se l’hanno uccisa, almeno salveranno le sue parole, perché hanno salvato la sua immagine ".
Per Anna Politkovskaja, come per tutti coloro che raccontano, la prima grande ossessione è la distruzione dell’immagine, perché tale condizione castra le tue parole, le rende spesso inutili, Who do you listen to the whispers in defamation, distrust.
Anna had returned from shopping on 7 October 2006. A tired-looking woman at the supermarket along the Frunzenskaya , the road along the Moskva. Is returning from the hospital where the mother admitted devoured by cancer. His father, tied up his wife when he heard the news of the disease died of a heart attack. It seems the worst of the lot rage in those days.
Divorced, Anna, have two grown children who saw little, waiting for the home Van Gogh, now a big dog, but it was marked by a puppy ill-treatment. Wrote of him: "AND 'again tonight. I turn the key in the lock and Van Gogh flies on me, anyway. Although stomach hurts, no matter what he ate, even if he was sound asleep. E 'source of a loving motion. All you plant, grow tired all say the dog never stops love you. "
has three shopping bags in the car that stops at the door of his house at number 8 Lesnaya Ulitsa. Finding parking is easy. It 's a fairly protected middle-class neighborhood and a certain taste. We inhabit the professionals of the new Russia. In the buildings you enter only with an access code. Anna rose to house and installation of the first two envelopes expenses, full of food and stuff for the home. Then down again to take the third envelope, full of sanitary items for the mother in the hospital missing. Rooms on the first floor with elevator, as soon as you open the doors, still inside the cab, she meets a man and a woman. He is thin, young, cap worn with the visor to cover his eyes - the witnesses will say - and the woman next to it. The tip of a gun Izh silenced in the chest. On the left side of his chest. Shoot for three times. Two strokes take heart splitting it into three parts, a third shot deflects the shoulder. Then, to make sure that you have done the job well, once the body fell to the ground shot in the neck. Anna had followed from the supermarket, knew the codes to enter the building el'hanno waited on the landing. After running leave the gun with serial abraded in a pool of blood and go away. A lady, shortly after, called the elevator, when this risk on the ground floor and the doors open wide, let out a yell and then a prayer.
Find the corpse of Anna.
was the fifty-fourth birthday of President Vladimir Putin and his death seems like a gift. Anna Politkovskaya Stepanovna , born in New York with the surname Mazepa, forty-eight years, was buried October 10, 2006 Trojekurovo the cemetery in Moscow. Behind the coffin in the front row two sons, Ilya, twenty-eight years, and Vera, twenty-six, her sister, her ex-husband and dog. His word could not be stopped that way. Only in this way were successful: with bullets. Three years after the accused of the murder of Anna were all acquitted. Acquitted Chadžikurbanov Sergei, a former official of the Ministry of Interior, acquitted two Chechen brothers Ibragim Džabrail Machmudov and, third, Rustam , also implicated him, fled abroad, never arrested, and acquitted Colonel security forces Pavel Rjaguzov . Acquitted and released by the President of the Military Court Yevgeny Zubov who allegedly had followed, and then killed Anna. The murder has not guilty today or principals. But the words of Anna continues to be stuffed under the nails and thorns in the very temple of Russian power.
Chechnya is a dangerous book. Anna Politkovskaya wrote it with the desire to tell a wound that was not just about a cave in some remote part Caucasian. It was written for managing to make the story of the war in Chechnya a daily reality for all. And this is what killed her. His ability to make the necessary debate Chechnya in London and Rome, providing evidence in Madrid and Paris, Washington and Stockholm. Whether his words have become nitroglycerin for the government of Putin, to the point that this book has become more dangerous than television, the statement of a witness, a trial of the International Tribunal. Why Chechnya collects everything that Anna saw one of the worst wars in which the human species has ever created, a war where soldiers tortured, raped women and had to declare in the minutes to be the real culprits of violence. His poetry can be summarized in an aphorism of Marina Tsvetaeva, on which he had graduated, " All my writing is to listen .
Anna Politkovskaya was working in a very complicated situation. The trips were paid the thirty dollars, there was no possibility of profit, the work does not was supported by any economic reward. Zero money to travel and the greater part of the salary was going to defend against lawsuits and complaints, it rained every time an article appeared in his signature. Bulging was the goal. And depressing with a lot of pressure defamatory endless. The main floor was not to kill her, but destroy the image. To persuade those who loved her - and they were many - it was crazy un'arrivista.
never forget the words of Aleksandr Politkovskij, the former husband of Anna, the day after his death: " was in 1994 when he took up the struggle between the oligarchs Vladimir Potanin and Vladimir Gusinskij control Norilsk Nickel, the world's largest producer of nickel, which was to be privatized. Potanin won, but at some point Gusinskij called Anna and showed a defamatory dossier that had collected on our family. Anna was scared, I picked her up and talked and talked, sat in the car. There, she decided she would go ahead anyway, even though he feared the stigma of death . "Better to die than to be vilified. And after all this is the true consolation. Terrible, tragic but incredibly true.
At least they stopped with the death of groped to discredit. The stigma was the first element of destruction. tarnish the family trying to prove collusion, corruption e reati. Andavano dai parenti delle vittime di cui Anna aveva raccontato e facevano pressione perché dicessero che aveva inventato tutto, che tutto era avvenuto diversamente. Diffondevano voci di calunnia: è bugiarda, mitomane, matta, buffona, carrierista. Erano, in fondo, centinaia i cronisti in Russia che la odiavano perché il marito aveva fatto carriera già durante la perestrojka, diventando la voce critica, sì, ma di una televisione dell’Urss. E poi Anna scriveva su un giornale in parte sotto il diretto controllo azionario di Gorbaciov e dell’oligarca Lebedev. Il venticello della calunnia era di fare i rivoluzionari con lo spazio dato dai vecchi padroni comunisti. Non era difficile per il potere politico trovare appigli verosimili to ruin his image. So today as hundreds of his colleagues in every corner of the world defending and investigating what happened.
But then the husband continues to explain why Anna was afraid of the stigma more than anything else: "She wrote its articles to change things. Each piece had to help someone or fight injustice. He had to produce something even a little, but something . If he had lost his credibility this would become impossible. The same happened to, years later, Ramzan Kadyrov, Chechnya's pro-Russian governor, who threatened to drag it into a sauna and photographed in obscene poses with naked men . They would have drugged, kidnapped and photographed in poses sex with men, in a kind of orgy, gang bang between big man with dyed oil to the center of the most dangerous journalists. As if to say, this is the life that makes one that goes, describing his country as hell. Who would have believed that she had been drugged and forced? All those photos would accept dirty, and they shouted to vice, orgy, the pleasure of the courtesan who believed a new fighter. In that case, after the photo shoot on the front pages of many magazines and on gossip sites across the world, no denial, no complaint or evidence of violence could remove the mud from his face. A mud that would put into doubt and question every report, every investigation, every word. E this is the first danger.
Before the bullets, or when the bullets fail in their intent, we come to destroy the credibility, to plunge the authority to render void the words starting with the words themselves, but by creating a mechanism that those words make no sense, making them empty shells. When Anna decided to dismiss the role of journalist and actively participate in what she was seeing and telling, in October 2002, intervened in the talks with the terrorists who had hijacked the spectators of the musical Nord Ost Dubrovka theater Moscow. He decided to do so by bringing water to the hostages. In September 2004, during the siege of Beslan school, he wanted groped mediation. And she would have succeeded because he was respected by both sides, but Anna said that she had been poisoned on board his plane that was bringing in Ossetia. That poison was to kill her and prevent her from carrying out its proposal for resolving the crisis. In a simple, lightweight, tried to delete it: with a cup of tea. After drinking began to turn the head and stomach twitched in spasms. Fainted, but had had time to ask for help to the hostess. She was taken to hospital in Rostov. When he awoke the nurse whispered: "My dear , have poisoned, but all tests His blood had been destroyed on orders from above . "I remember that Italian journalists a few days after the news nudged:" He has seen too many 007 our Anna. And then when one is in danger not ragged all conferences, trying to defend himself in silence . "This is the content of the comments after she had survived a poisoning without evidence.
but Anna knew that silence was a huge gift to those who wanted to silence and delegitimize. He had received many threats, and for a period she was paid an escort from his private journal, the "Novaya Gazeta ." On September 9, 2004 he wrote an article in "The Guardian " Poisoned by Putin , and many, too many do not believe her. For strange mechanisms, the envy of colleagues for their vision and the strength of the words of Anna, who did identify the struggle for civil rights in Chechnya with his pen and his face, turning it into a symbol, often became the greatest ally voices of government officials who told of a woman taken by herself and her project mythomaniac. And that left her completely isolated. In the September 9, 2004 wrote: " is absurd, but was it not the same during communism, when everyone knew that the authorities were saying stupid things but pretended the emperor had clothes? We are falling into the abyss Soviet abyss of information that creates death from our own ignorance ... for the rest, if you want to continue to be a journalist, you must swear absolute loyalty to Putin. Otherwise it can mean death, bullet, poison, or any court solution the intelligence services, Putin's guard dogs, deem appropriate. "
to defend it was just his books and articles.
In Memory of a Revolutionary, Victor Serge pointed out: " say that I'm more interested in writing, others will treat me better than the words with the facts, I now have no time, I must say just ." It seems to be the same for Anna. His books are immediate, fast, have the power of the discovery of new, unknown and the information disclosed. And this is what he exposed.
" Who in the West sees me as the main militant Putin say that I am not a militant, are only a journalist. It is enough. And the task of the journalist is to inform. As for Putin, has made all the colors and I have to write "he said without saying that the problem was not a political task, but acquitted of the need to write. He hated to write editorial: "No matter know that I think, but what I see " and went on with his investigative stories.
Anna Politkovskaya knew that only readers would have the defense, took part in many international conferences, he knew that people's eyes, the interest, would defend his words. And only they had her stock. His instruments were the reports and the interview, and when it was directed to an authority, if the politician or bureaucrat was evasive or untruthful, Politkovskaya spent the complaint. There are dozens processes to which the writer has participated only as a witness. In an interview with British newspaper "The Guardian , 15 October 2002, said:" I went over my role as a journalist. I put it aside and I learned things that I would never come to if knowledge I had been a mere journalist, who in the crowd sta'ferma like everyone else. "It was perhaps the reason that led her to Chechnya in 1999. Since then, article after article, he began to assemble this book, which today represents one of the most significant literary documents of our time to understand the physiology of any conflict, fierce, hidden, abominable, terribly modern.
Politkovskaya was the daughter of the tradition of dissident Soviet Union from the 70s onwards, had adopted a strategy and peaceful nonviolent action to denounce the regime. He had decided to expose the lies of his country through the same channels that the Russian state was created, and so his plan did not exhausted itself in the article, but continued in the complaint. Not everything was left of journalism. The interested lay leaders in the eye. He had closely followed the story of the tortured and raped young girls. It had followed directly in the process. When she could, Anna obtained the punishment of the perpetrators and the evidence introduced in the performance of processes doing justice to the victims.
In this book shows a clear principle: the power of the word. How heavy a word. What caliber and what use scales to measure it. Questions that plague tropical fevers as every particle of those who approach a writer or reader to the literature. Literature is an athlete, Mayakovsky wrote, image of words that override the blanket of all things that go beyond barriers and fight, I'm passionate enough. The specific gravity of the literary word is determined by the presence of writing in the flesh of the world or the lack of meat, however, for some.
Primo Levi in \u200b\u200bcontroversy with Giorgio Manganelli, who claimed the ability to write dark, dark said that writing is immoral. The literary style is labyrinthine, multi-faceted, I do not think there might be ways unique, but those on which they rest my feet I recognize. When Philip Roth says that after If this is a man no one can say that it was not Auschwitz, it did not know of the existence Auschwitz, but just have not been lined up outside a gas chamber. Such is the power of those pages. Books that are not evidence, reports, demonstrations are not. But lead the reader in their own territory, allow meat to be in the flesh. Somehow this is the real difference between what is news and what is literature. Not the argument, not even the style, but the possibility of creating words that do not communicate but they express, can whisper or shout, to put under the skin to the reader that what they are reading about him. It is not Chechnya, not Saigon, is not Dachau, but is its own place, and those stories are their stories.
Truman Capote had written shortly before his death: "The novel and truth are divided by an island that narrows gradually more and more, but are about to meet, the two rivers flow together, once and for all . And the risk for writers that he has never revealed that secret, that he had discovered some kind of hidden truth, but had said. It's that good. I make this writer dangerous, feared. Can get anywhere through a word not only conveys information, but that may be hidden, stop, defamed, denied, but delivers something that only the reader's eyes can deny and confirm. This power can not stop it if not stopping the hand that writes. The strength of this literature continues to be its inability to be reduced to one dimension, to be only one thing, be it news, information or sensation, pleasure and emotion. This accessibility makes her able to go beyond all limits, to overcome the scientific community, professionals, and go over time than any newspaper, becoming ungovernable tool and capable of forcing each grid as possible. The same power that was feared most of the governments Soviet Boris Pasternak and Doctor Zhivago and The Tales of Kolyma Šalamov of the investments of CIA counterintelligence.
The vital power of writing continues to be a prerequisite for distinguishing un libro che val la pena di leggere da uno che val la pena di mantenere chiuso. L’universo dei campi di concentramento sembra spremere dalla letteratura impensabili stille di vita. Non mi interessa la letteratura come vizio, non mi interessa la letteratura come pensiero debole, non mi riguardano belle storie incapaci di mettere le mani nel sangue del mio tempo, e di fissare in volto il marciume della politica e il tanfo degli affari. Esiste una letteratura diversa che può avere grandi qualità e riscuotere numerosi consensi. Ma non mi riguarda. Ho in mente la frase di Graham Greene: " Non so cosa andrò a scrivere ma per me vale soltanto scrivere cose che contano ". Cercare di capire i meccanismi. I congegni del potere, del nostre tempo, bolts of the metaphysics of morals. Everything is on the choir and with different registers. Without the fear of writing outside the perimeters literary nominate data, addresses, percentages, and paraphernalia, with contaminating everything. The style is basic, but I think Ernest Hemingway had it right: " style is grace under pressure . The grace of writing, his time lying down, deep reflection should be held hostage by the situation, the imperative of the word to do, to reveal. A truth, the literary, which is not in the word in person. The truth of the words in our time is paid for with death. It is expected that it will. You train the mind so. I am more convinced than ever. Surviving a strong truth is a way to generate suspicion. One way to remove the truth to their words. But the truth of the word and have no other finding of the analysis that death. Surviving a means to diminish the truth of the word truth. A word of truth always brings a response of the power, if it is effective. " Power" is a generic word and sgualdrinesca. Institutional power, military, criminal, culture, business.
And if this answer is not the word of the new truth, did not get purpose. Do not hit. And the litmus test for having struck at the heart of power is being struck to the heart. Una reazione eguale e contraria. E feroce. O si porta una verità condivisa, tutto sommato accettabile. O si porta la verità delle immagini, quella delle telecamere o delle fotografie. Verità estetiche, verità morali supportate dalle prove. Quelle comportano poco la scelta dell’individuo e molto quella dell’occhio. Come se l’uomo fosse smembrato isolando ogni suo organo. E all’intellettuale fosse destinata la stessa separazione dell’apologo di Menenio Agrippa. Il reporter è l’occhio, lo scrittore la mano e un po’ di mente, il giornalista l’occhio e un po’ di mano, il poeta il cuore, il narratore lo stomaco. Ma è forse giunto il tempo di generare un mostro a più mani e più eyes, a time when the writer can invade, involve, abuse of any instrument. This is the task of the writer who deals with reality and write through it. The words continue to be fundamental, but the solitude of the writer and the danger of the word are still enormous.
Stanislav Markelov was the lawyer of Anna Politkovskaya and was the lawyer who fought against the early release of Colonel Yuri Budanov , the highest ranking official convicted of war crimes by a Russian court. They brutally killed with bullets to the head, January 19, 2009. In the trial of Colonel Budanov, Markelov represented the family Elza Kung, the eighteen year-old Chechen who was raped and murdered in Chankala by a group of Russian soldiers. The father of Elza Kung years in Norway, receives constant death threats. Colonel Budanov is an untouchable. In recent years, the murder of Elza became the symbol of the abuses committed in Chechnya by Russian troops. The story is told in many pages of the book Putin's Russia by Anna Politkovskaya. There is also recounts the trial of Budanov, who probably would not have been convicted without the media attention that his book had generated. Budanov was arrested in 2000, indicted and sentenced to ten years in 2003. Recently, however, was returned to freedom, despite the campaign Advocate Markelov conduct against the issue. The lawyer
Markelov was shot in the street along with Anastasia Baburova , journalist of "Novaya Gazeta " - the same head of Politkovskaya - who had taken the place of Anna in addressing the investigations in Chechnya.
writer, dies. For Anastasia shot in the head while trying to stop the gunman who killed the lawyer Markelov with which she worked. For the killer seemed absurd that a woman reacts by not running away, and that they had been displaced. Anastasia died rebelling against his executors. Was twenty-five years. Now that the libel failed to destroy Anna, now che le sue parole le sono sopravvissute, tutto è nelle labbra, negli occhi, nella memoria dei lettori.
Non avrei voluto che queste mie parole fossero definite una introduzione. Queste parole sono una preghiera, pronunciata con tutte le possibili frasi liturgiche al lettore che ha deciso di spendere il suo tempo a leggerle.
Una preghiera perché non smetta mai di riportare a tutti coloro che incontra quanto leggerà in Cecenia e perché non dimentichi il sacrificio di chi ha deciso di raccontare. Una preghiera affinché possa sentire sin dentro la carne ogni ora della vita di Anna Politkovskaja, una vita spesso passata sapendo di avere una scadenza, ma nella certezza che quella scadenza avrebbe riguardato solo il proprio corpo, e diffuso, as the constellations, their stories in each depositing player that he had encountered.
Roberto Saviano
For previous parts:
hell to Beauty
Not the Jail Not the Death
City man-paradise flowers
Blacks of death, blacks angry
How heavy is the word
Колымские рассказы
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