|“Between fear and sense of duty, he still protects.”|
In Vineyard of the Saker-German, March 9, 2016
Translated from German by Tom Winter March 21, 2016
Saker-German: Mark has allowed us to re-post his latest report. He has lived more than a year there, and has made a documentary film Ukrainian Agony — the Silent War. He continues to report from Donetsk on his website.
|… where there really is nothing more to ‘protect’|
|“There is not one house that hasn’t been hit. 80% of the houses are uninhabitable and ready for demolition.”|
|“Complete commercial blockade. The only thing Kiev delivers are troops and grenades.”|
“I just wanted to tell you, there could be mines here. Have a nice day.” Well, good to know.
Hardships in hanging up the wash to dry
We continue on foot. The quiet of the day up to now is shattered by an explosion. Artillery. For a moment I regret that the flakjackets are still back in the trunk of the car. But the people here that we’re talking with don’t have flakjackets either. Again, after the explosion, quiet. “Sometimes you can’t even hang up the laundry,” exclaimed an old woman. The blast from a nearby shell scattered the wash around the yard. More than once, she tells us.
I want to know whether Minsk II has made any difference. She doesn’t know what “Minsk II” means. Without telephone, television, and newspapers they do not know what is going on [Same as here in the US! –tr]. All she knows is that she is bombarded – why, is a complete mystery. Two men from the militia walk past us. She points to them and says: “But the guys protect me. And they always give a friendly greeting.
War has found a pet spot here, and won’t move on
|The dead in this cemetery are already dead. You can’t kill them over again. (At the Donetsk Iversk Monastery)|
“I’ve known you, since you were little.”
|“You’ve gotten pretty, Miss. I’ve known you since you were little,” he said.|
The “bread tour” stops in front of another demolished house on the street. An old man stands in front of it and takes his ration. He looks at my companion Nelja and says: “You have become beautiful, girl. I’ve known you since you were little.” The boundaries blur between memory and imagination. People can not imagine that someone outside the Donbass cares any more. They are cut off from the rest of the world and their only regular visit, the two retirees from the neighborhood on their “bread-Tour”. Journalists, to say nothing of Western ones, have never been here, and doubtless won’t.
At evening, as we are on our way back to Donetsk, we hear the cannonade begin again behind us. The pounding is heavier than in the preceding days. The reports coming in through our network show assaults all along the front line. Indeed, War has found a favorite spot, and just won’t let go.