Greetings from Novorossiya: Eyewitness to the War in Ukraine

2. DISINTEGRATION

ALTHOUGH UKRAINE HAS always been troubled by internal conflicts, it was Yanukovych who brought the country to the verge of real disintegration. First of all, he and his entourage relinquished their monopoly over violence.

In Ukraine hiring protesters is a common practice. Occasionally, one can spot the same person on opposite sides of the barricades—the authorities’ and the opposition’s. That’s why people can hardly believe that it is even possible for there to be a protest that doesn’t have some interested person behind it.

The first protests in Donetsk begin quite innocuously. On March 1, 2014, during a demonstration in Lenin Square, the few thousand people gathered there declare a vote of no confidence against the regional authorities. The demonstrators choose a previously unknown resident of Donetsk, Pavel Gubarev, as the “people’s governor.” Additionally, he proclaims himself leader of the Donbas People’s Militia. “I will stay with you till the end,” he says, right after he has introduced himself to a cheering crowd waving Russian flags. He moves from his biography to his political program. He is well known within the milieu of pro-Russian groups that organize protests in Donetsk (Russian Bloc, Donetsk Republic, and Progressive Socialist Party of Ukraine), but for the last six years he has been a student and running his own business. “I am married, I have three children, and I am 30. I have three university degrees: in history, law and public administration. I had no intention of going into politics before this ‘wonderful’ crisis started. I just wanted to live in peace, be a breadwinner and feed my children. But the new situation didn’t let me stay impartial, my conscience didn’t allow it.” “Hero!” shouts the crowd. Gubarev explains to them that something like southeastern Ukraine doesn’t exist. There is only Novorossiya. “In reality it is a Russian land and Ukraine has never existed,” he declares. “Yeeesss!” chants the crowd. He names the politicians who are close to his heart: the president of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko; Nursultan Nazarbayev from Kazakhstan; the deceased Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez; the former Cuban head of state Fidel Castro; and finally, Vladimir Putin. After the last name is mentioned the crowd is screaming with all its might: “Yeeesss!” When the authorities are “elected,” the crowd walks from Lenin Square to the Regional Administration Building. After several speeches the Ukrainian flag is replaced by the Russian flag. The building itself cannot be taken because riot police are blocking its entrance and all the windows are barred. The demonstrators are furious and smash the glass.

They are able to enter the building two days later. (In the course of a month, the building’s “owner” will change a few times. Either it is seized by the activists from the emerging separatist movement or it is recaptured by the police. In the end, the separatist movement will prevail and settle there for good. It will become their headquarters.) By ignoring the assault, the passive police only made this easier. Home Ministry forces were standing there with their shields ready but they didn’t even budge. Gubarev stormed the assembly room of the Regional Council and once again proclaimed himself the “people’s governor.” The demonstrators forced the local assembly to announce an independence referendum for the Donetsk and Luhansk regions.

At the beginning of April they eventually take total control of the Regional Administration Building. The regional authorities have to leave. The freshly named governor, and businessman, Serhiy Taruta was not able to hold off the militants. Instead of clearly describing his position, he was evasive and tried to mix water with fire. What is more, he simply ignored the “Russian Spring,” as the demonstrators call it. Step by step, the Russian Spring spreads to more cities and towns, but in the media Taruta keeps repeating that the integrity of Ukraine is not threatened. He was the only one among the official Ukrainian representatives who insisted on calling for a referendum, but in a different form. It was supposed to be held later, and the citizens were to answer questions regarding decentralization and the status of the Russian language. For the supporters of a united Ukraine it was an excessive bow before the self-proclaimed authorities. For the separatists the bow was not enough. In the end none of the parties trusts him. Those in power are completely losing their authority.

According to Gubarev, both the authorities and the opposition are at fault. Actually, all the sympathizers of the separatists share this view, but they are not alone. It is the lack of hope that the Ukrainian opposition can change anything that makes it easier for the separatists to take over more cities. After all, nobody is willing to defend rotten authorities and a nonfunctioning state, even if there is a risk that they will be replaced by something more atrocious.

There was only one person who could stabilize the situation or at least halt the state’s disintegration in Donbas. It was Rinat Akhmetov, the wealthiest Ukrainian and, among other things, the owner of the most expensive apartment in London. As in the majority of such cases in post-Soviet territory, nobody really knows where his money comes from. The first information about his legal business appeared in 1995 when he founded Donetsk City Bank. When Kiev realized that in the eastern regions businesspeople enjoy the highest respect, Akhmetov was offered a position as governor. Leaks about this offer appeared just a few hours after the crowd had stormed the Donetsk regional administration. Another oligarch, Igor Kolomoyskiy, was chosen as governor in the Dnipropetrovsk region, for similar reasons. Almost every passerby in Dnipropetrovsk asserts that if it weren’t for him things would take a different turn. “He’s our boy,” explains Iryna, a middle-aged resident of Dnipropetrovsk. However, in the Dnipropetrovsk region, unlike in Donbas, public opinion is in favor of Kiev.

Unlike Kolomoyskiy, Akhmetov rejected the offer to become governor and decided to continue his ambiguous game. “If the police attack people, I will take their side,” maintained the oligarch at the beginning of the demonstrations in Donetsk. It was his first really courageous declaration. Somehow, during the protests on the Maidan, Akhmetov was not bothered by the fact that police attacked people many times. This time the police are very consistent and do nothing, even during a demonstration on March 13 in Donetsk when the first victim of the Russian Spring dies.

Almost everybody in Donbas identifies oligarchy, thieving, and corruption as the most infuriating of vices. It is a paradox that hardly anybody in Donbas attributes these traits to Akhmetov.

“The whole thing is the fault of these oligarchs. They appropriated everything for themselves,” says Volodymyr, a retiree.

“So Akhmetov is guilty, too?” I provoke him.

“He’s different. Maybe Akhmetov is fabulously wealthy, but he shares some of his fortune. His wealth trickles down to us, too. He is creating new jobs and making investments in the cities. He isn’t cheap like the others.”

Volodymyr is not convinced by the argument that, if Akhmetov paid into the state budget as much as he owed, much more would “trickle” to the local population.

The fact that the oligarch didn’t decide to stabilize the situation in the Donetsk region made the authorities fall even faster. He was supposedly supporting the separatist movement from the time of its difficult beginning. Akhmetov hoped that his business would thrive and Donbas would turn into his private ranch. Nevertheless, the separatists escaped his control and were mostly taken over by Russia.

What is this oligarch’s role in the separatist movement? Nobody knows. Back in May Gubarev claimed that two-thirds of the pro-Russian activists were funded by Akhmetov.

The building that houses his company DTEK rises in the center of Donetsk, right next to the occupied building of the regional administration. Nobody has ever tried to take it over, destroy it, or even spray anything on the walls as the separatists like to do. At the same time Ukrainian forces are stationed in the many offices of his company. Nevertheless, it is he who loses most in the war—his factories are not functioning and they are occasionally shelled. From organizer and master of the situation he turns more and more into its victim. When the situation escapes his control, conditions in Donbas deteriorate. Local demonstrators don’t walk the streets with baseball bats any more. Soon knives show up and finally firearms. Uniformed people with automatic weapons and grenade launchers become commonplace and no one is astonished. More buildings are taken over. The police, so passive in the past, side with the separatists. Now it is the militants who administer “justice.” People don’t mock them any longer. It is too late to stop them without fighting.

“Had the state been functioning and its officials following orders, everything could have been suppressed by the police and without the special forces,” states Semen Semenchenko from Donbas, the commander of the volunteer battalion Donbas. “I have witnessed the entire process with my own eyes,” he adds. It is true that, at the beginning of the conflict, pro-Russian separatists couldn’t brag about their efficiency or numbers. The police would have dealt with them without bringing reinforcements from other cities.

In April the pro-Ukrainian movement in Donetsk is still easily able to organize demonstrations with more people than the separatists are. But the largest group of people are the “indifferent” types, who don’t care what is happening around them. We simply want to make money in order to live quietly, they say. To them pro-Russian demonstrators are objects of ridicule. “Look, it’s a madhouse,” a man on a bus turns to me. He points to the occupied Regional State Administration, surrounded by dozens of people and several tents. If I were not interested in current events, I wouldn’t even notice the Russian Spring in Donetsk.

“We are here to defend Donbas from the Kiev junta, who despise the Russian-speaking population.” That’s what I hear in the tent of the Communist Party of Ukraine. Other separatists often add that Donbas returns too much tax money to Kiev. In fact, Donbas receives two times more than it pays in. This is not a secret and many people in Donetsk know it. They also know that Russian speakers have never been discriminated against in Ukraine, particularly in the capital of Donbas, where it’s fairly rare that you hear Ukrainian. That’s why pro-Russian separatists can hardly fire up the crowds. Their rhetoric and demands are completely incomprehensible in this city of almost one million residents. “Nobody is discriminating against us,” says Andrij, visibly surprised.

There are, however, places more susceptible to these demands. In Donbas, with its six million people, there are many postindustrial cities with populations of one hundred or two hundred thousand inhabitants. In the times of the Soviet Union they were centered around big factories. The Soviet Union collapsed, the factories were collapsing, too—obsolete, inefficient, and often useless. Today most of them don’t exist and many jobs have disappeared. In some cities unemployment has really become a serious problem. That is why it is not only elderly people who are dreaming about the return of the Soviet Union.

According to Oleksij Matsuka, editor in chief of Novosti Donbasa, many political organizations worked very hard to exacerbate this discontent. They used left-wing populism, conservative ideas of russkii mir (literally, “Russian world,” a nationalist concept of a cultural zone of “Russianess” outside Russia’s political borders), and old Soviet rhetoric. It was they who prepared the foundation for the events in Donbas in 2014. “It is not that Russia just came here. Everything has been the result of our internal problems and Russia interfered a little later,” says Semenchenko from the battalion Donbas.

From March to April the Russian Spring spreads with special intensity to the towns of Donbas and other Ukrainian regions, although it doesn’t go beyond street protests and short-term building occupations. But there were also some tragic incidents. Particularly bloody disturbances took place in Odessa, when the House of Trade Unions was set ablaze and about fifty separatists lost their lives. Clashes were also taking place in Kharkiv, Mykolaiv, Zaporozhia, and Dnipropetrovsk. At that time there was a common worry in Ukraine that the Crimean situation might be repeated, in other words, that more and more Ukrainian territories would be annexed by Russia. Very quickly, however, pro-Russian demonstrations were halted all over—with the exception of Donbas.

In the Donetsk and Luhansk regions hot spots appear one by one. Small postindustrial towns there turn into the main headquarters of pro-Russian activists and militants. It is much easier there to find support among populations struggling with serious social problems. It is also easier to project an impression of mass involvement and total control. Pro-Russian demonstrations in Donetsk coincide with demonstrations in Alchevsk, Khartsyzk, Druzhkivka, Horlivka, Kramatorsk, Makiivka, and Slovyansk. They also erupt in two larger cities, Luhansk and Mariupol. The scenario is usually the same: pro-Russian demonstrations lead to the occupation of the city council, the police headquarters, or the security service.

In Horlivka the police immediately join the militants. The police station is guarded by “volunteers” armed with police shields and batons. The officers do nothing to oppose them. Some surrender, because they sympathize with the separatists’ ideas, others surrender because they know they can’t count on any help from Kiev. In principle, postrevolutionary authorities lacking any structure and a corrupt system make any action impossible. At the beginning of the conflict you may get the impression that Kiev hardly cares what will happen to Donbas.

In mid-April in Kramatorsk and Slovyansk cheering demonstrators are joined by the “little green men.” That’s what the Russian soldiers in unmarked uniforms who were responsible for the intervention in Crimea were called. “We are Crimean… I mean Donbas Mass Mobilization…,” “Balu” begins his speech. He is a commander of the little green men. Those in Slovyansk are armed with automatic rifles and grenade launchers. They also have armored vehicles. A Russian flag is flying on one of them. Until now in Donbas this has been a rare sight. For several months Slovyansk becomes the unofficial capital of separatism. It is here that the majority of the militants’ forces are stationed.

“How did you get your weapons?”

“The residents gave them to us,” explains one of “greens” with a sarcastic smile.

“And what about the armored vehicles?”

“In the morning we found them parked here, so we took them.”

It is certain that some equipment is being seized from the few and undisciplined Ukrainian forces, which in the initial phase of the conflict are not fighting the separatists. Instead, they surrender without a single shot. From the very beginning it is the Russians who are suspected of arming the separatists.

“It would never have begun, if the Russians hadn’t helped them,” claims Vasil, a resident of Donetsk. His view is shared by many people.

The protests in Donbas as well as the intervention in Crimea were caricatures of the events on the Maidan in Kiev. On the Maidan barricades appeared and official buildings were occupied. After a while there was violence, and in the end the authorities were forced out. In Donetsk as well the barricades went up in front of the administration building. Posters and flags appeared. Tents have been put up nearby, there are leaflets and posters. Loudspeakers are positioned outside the building, speeches go on, and music is playing. If we leave out the number of participants, we can get the impression that we are dealing with a copy of the events in Kiev. “At first glance everything looks the same, but it evokes apprehension rather than joy,” one of my friends wrote. As a matter of fact, something is not right.

The Maidan was fighting the regime, sooner or later doomed to collapse, but at that moment still strong. In Kiev the streets were flooded with complete police units who were defending the government. They were the Berkut—the special police forces of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. They had no problem in pacifying their compatriots with clubs, cruelly and ruthlessly. During their first attempt to disperse the Maidan, the police were beating up people covered with blankets (there were no tents on Independence Square yet) who were simply sleeping around the Independence Monument.

Yanukovych’s apparatus could defend itself for a long time from the thousands of exasperated demonstrators who in January wanted to storm the Parliament building. The result was that a hundred people were shot and the Maidan was completely crushed.

“Donbas had its Maidans, too. We’re sick of this government. They are responsible for all this.” You can hear these words almost everywhere. But the new administration is targeted and becomes an embodiment of evil. Yanukovych has been erased from the collective memory very quickly.

“What does Yanukovych have to do with this? He doesn’t rule in Kiev,” replies Vadim when asked about the former president.

I disagree and I say: “The new government has been in power since only recently and has inherited a plundered state.”

“So what? They are all the same.” Although one of the most important demands of “the Anti-Maidan” is fighting the ubiquitous corruption, surprisingly enough this ubiquity doesn’t apply to the police, according to the Anti-Maidanists. They know how to explain police behavior during the demonstrations and clashes.

“The Maidan humiliated the police, so they joined us,” claims Serhiy from Donetsk.

“Glory to the Berkut,” shouts the crowd, frequently. The Berkut was a special police unit, notorious for particularly brutal treatment of the demonstrators on the Maidan. When power changed hands the Berkut was dissolved. Some officers fled to Crimea, where they received Russian passports and were incorporated into the Russian equivalent of the Berkut—OMON. Others disappeared and then showed up on the separatist side. A large group, however, was “rehabilitated” and now fights for the Ukrainians. Word has it that among them there are snipers from the Maidan, who had been firing at the demonstrators. Deputy Hennadiy Moskal maintains that this is their way to atone for their sins.

The fate of the officers is one of the favorite subjects of Russian propaganda. Even now, Russian TV viewers, if they chance upon a program about the Maidan, are bombarded with images of wounded policemen and streets aflame from Molotov cocktails. In these programs the Berkut epitomizes heroism. They were the ones who attempted to defend Ukraine from the Maidan “fascists.”

“Which network are you from?” Almost every conversation held on territory that was or is still controlled by the separatists begins with this question. I don’t carry a camera or a microphone, but people are not convinced that I am not from TV. The argument that my journalistic work is based on writing is met with disbelief. In Donbas, as in the majority of Ukrainian regions, sitting in front of the TV is the most important part of each day. It’s the basic entertainment, either after work or on a day off. Cultural trash, sentimental and patriotic movies, the news (which can be described with many words, but “objective” is definitely not one of them), and the cult of Putin—all this can be found in the TV box. Even educated and intelligent people often believe a TV version of events that has very little in common with reality. It’s enough for them to have heard them on TV.

“How can you, Poles, join up with these savage Banderites? After all, they were murdering you in Katyn,” asks Volodymyr in Slovyansk. He has no idea that he is confusing the Volyn massacre with Katyn. Later, I will hear about “the Katyn massacre” a few times.

It is, indeed, the Banderites (originally Ukrainian nationalists named for their leader in the 1930s and 1940s, Stepan Bandera) that the Russian media are warning against. They—the Banderites, fascists, nationalists, and the National Guard—are ready for anything, and above all for oppressing and humiliating the residents of Donbas. Unfortunately, as often happens, somebody has misheard or misunderstood something, and now people take it out on “Benderites” instead of “Banderites.” Ostap Bender, a Soviet archetypal antihero, is a character from the novel The Twelve Chairs by Ilf and Petrov, published in 1928. This “Great Schemer” is a street-smart con man but has very little in common with Ukrainian nationalism.

On the other hand, pro-Russian demonstrators and militants frequently describe themselves as antifascists.

“I hate nationalists and fascists,” a uniformed separatist with a machine gun tells me. A moment later he talks about the blood unity of all Slavs, the greatness of Russian culture and Orthodox religion, but he disparages other faiths. The “people’s governor” Gubarev likes to pose in the imperial uniform.

“You have to write the truth.” This sentence usually follows the question about which TV network I come from. But which truth? Here everybody has his own truth. Once I spent a few hours in a bunker with the separatists. Their unit commander, a retired policeman called “Cimmerian,” is a really polite person. He shows me the photos on his phone: his family, house, work, and so on. Suddenly, one of his subordinates starts telling me about Right Sector—the organization that enjoys an almost mythical status among the separatists.

It is a nationalist coalition created during the Maidan events. Their street clashes with the police in January brought them popularity. But they owe their real fame to the Russian media, which describe them as bloodthirsty beasts. They were mentioned as often as “The One Russia of President Vladimir Putin.” Of all the “Banderites” (or perhaps even “Benderites”) they are the most feared. One militant from Cimmerian’s unit claims that when somebody deserts from the Ukrainian army or the National Guard, men from Right Sector are waiting behind and slash his throat. It’s not a joke. He is quite serious about it and his commander only nods his head.