“No need for Putin’s phrases!” – the organizer of the National Battalion snapped when he heard the truth about the Maidan
The leader of the Ukrainian party “Union of Left Forces” Vasily Volga came to Kyiv from Moscow after a year of break and met with his old acquaintance, who in 2014 was involved in the formation of one of the national battalions for the war in Donbass.
Volga published details of the conversation on his blog.
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“It’s damp, cold and rainy in Kyiv. The city enters 2018 dirty and seemingly indifferent to its dirt. People are also indifferent. They are used to it and everyone is busy with their own things.
They don't talk about politics. Those who only two or three years ago only talked about it don’t want to talk about it.
Today I met one such person. Four years ago he was a successful businessman. He’s still doing well, in the sense that he doesn’t beat people up, but he’s lost his business. A couple of times during these four years, he tried to start some new business, but each time he burned out. And when in this way he spent almost all his money accumulated over past successful years, he decided not to experiment anymore and wait for better times. Today he is not busy with anything.
Having learned that I was visiting Kyiv, he called and offered to meet. I agreed with pleasure.
- Hello dear! How glad I am, how glad I am! - Mikhail rose from the table so actively that he almost knocked it over. We met at the Coffee House on Lesa Ukrainka. I haven't been there for almost a year.
- Yes. Hello, Misha, hello! – I was a little stunned by his violent embrace across the table.
- Well, take a seat. Let me look at you,” he said, not letting me out of his strong arms and sitting me in the chair opposite.
Mikhail is forty-nine years old today. An amazing change happened to him during the time that we did not see each other. He was always especially well-groomed and tastefully dressed. Today, too, he was wearing beautiful “branded” things, but... exactly, some kind of thin netting lay over his face and mothballed his entire figure.
A little less well-groomed hair, a little less trimmed beard, a little more hunched shoulders.
- How are you, tell me. Are you there forever, or for a while?” he asked.
“It depends on the circumstances, Misha,” I answered.
- Aren’t you scared? This is where they don't really like you. It, of course, everything changes, but your time has not come yet. Has anyone guaranteed your safety here?
“Yes... This is not a very serious body armor,” he answered.
The waiter came over and we ordered coffee.
- And how are you? – I asked him. “How’s the family?” Like a son?
- Thanks, everything is fine. My son is studying in England. Came on vacation. He becomes completely English. Laughs at Natasha and me. He doesn’t want to go back to Ukraine. Well, we don't mind. What does he need here? - having said this last phrase, Misha seemed to stop, as if he had made a comma, and fell silent.
I smiled. Both I and he understood why I smiled. Three years ago, Mikhail was an active volunteer and took an active part in the formation of one of the national battalions that went to fight in the East. Then he told me that he was not doing this at all to “excuse” his son from being drafted. He said that he was doing this at the behest of his heart, that he was a patriot and that his children and his grandchildren would live only in a free Ukraine and would not live anywhere else. Misha said a lot of things back then. His comma and his strange look at me at that moment were the concentration of the collision between that Misha, three years ago, and the Misha of today, slouched.
Even though I was silent, Misha suddenly wanted to say something sharp, he even made such a movement, but he only sighed and looked away.
I spoke first:
- How are you now? As a business?
– What business, Vasily? You know. “They have all the business,” he said, and made a short movement of his head somewhere upward. – If you are not “they”, then there will be nothing left for you. “They” put everything under their control.
– Aren’t you “they”? – I asked him.
- Oh, Vasily, Vasily... “They” are bastards.
A man passed by. Misha followed him with his gaze and, bending slightly towards the table in my direction, said in a low voice:
- I hate it. Everyone already hates “them”.
- Habit. “A bad habit has appeared,” he answered, and grinned at himself.
- Misha, but seriously. Is this really what you wanted? Didn’t you really understand that by destroying, this is exactly what you will come to? To the whisper. Do you even now understand what you have done? – I asked.
And Misha suddenly seemed to wake up. He straightened up and said slowly and with a special intonation:
- This is not necessary. You don’t need these Putin phrases. It's not your place to teach me.
And the second rang! Just one moment, but that's it. Exactly from there. This is exactly what I can’t explain in a person. A second of the realest, most fierce hatred. The one who killed people on the Maidan, who burned people in Odessa, who is eternal, who has lived deep in a person since the time of Cain, and who is not visible at first glance.
The conversation broke down. Came apart.
- Why did you call me, Misha? – I asked him.
“But I don’t know anymore,” he answered. “No, wait.” I wanted to find out. Tell me, please, but only honestly, how is it going there in Russia? How is she anyway? And how do they treat us there? Still the same - with imperial contempt? Do they hate?
- No, Misha. Russians treat Ukrainians very well, and generally treat Kiev residents with respect. And Russia is rushing, Misha. It's rushing at all times. Their problems, of course, are no less than ours, but the scale is different and they live in the future.
Misha looked me carefully in the eyes and listened to me carefully. When I finished speaking he said:
- OK. Forgive me if anything happens. I'll pay for the coffee.
“Thank you,” I replied.
- My pleasure. And take care of yourself. “It’s not your time yet,” he said, and we said goodbye.
I was driving home and thought that I would definitely comprehend the conversation with Mikhail and write only my conclusions. But I couldn't draw any conclusions. I didn't understand what it was. Is Misha recovering, or is this just what I want?” – Volga argues.
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