Those who are...

...free in spirit with values and who truly care, are usually the best people. Not understood by most. They fight and they fall. They are the reason humanity has a chance and the right to exist.

The screening of a new documentary film about Alexander Litvinenko at the Moscow's Sakharov center which I went to was attended by no more than 25 people, and offered no new information about him or his murder. The only fact that was confirmed (and I personally was very interested in) was that on his deathbed Litvinenko did convert to Islam. No doubt Ahmed Zakaeyv was the man who convinced him to do it, assuring him that this way he will become a 'shahid', Muslim warrior who dies on the path of Allah, and will go to paradise. I rest my case on this one.

Ill-fated production translates into something for the actors

Got the news today that Dagestan's president Mr Aliev in order to prevent the director of our production from resurrecting the play, has given an order to build an apartment block to house all the actors that have no proper accommodation. He has also given the theatre a financial grant. Our ill-fated production proved beneficial in a practical way and i am happy that the actors, who are not at all well off, will gain something as significant as a home from this.

Мы боролись за людей, а им это оказалось не надо. Им надо, чтобы их иногда кормили, и все.

Мы боролись за людей а это оказалось им не надо Им надо чтобы их иногда кормили и говорили что-нибудь хорошее, об их величии например.

...

He tells us that there is no glass in a small window of the cell and the temperatures are getting lower. ‘Limitations’ on food, water, bathing and visits. This is how those who refuse to admit to crimes they haven’t committed are treated. The least agreeable are treated the worst. Nothing new or shocking in it I suppose, when you think about how things are done in Russia, but this doesn’t make it any easier. Not for me anyway, when I see someone I care about in such a state.

I awkwardly reach for his hand; he takes it. Against my warm skin his hand is freezing cold. I can’t find the right thing to say or do.
‘It’ll be….’, damn that’s even worse than ‘how are you’.

Attorney gets up.
‘I’ll be back in a few’. Kind man. A. moves closer to me.
‘How is your project going?’
I ignore this question and look right into his eyes. They are still soft and gentle.
Every word gets stuck in my throat. I just keep stroking his hand with my thumb. I know I will have to go soon and I still haven’t said something really important, except I don’t know what it is. And crying is definitely not an option. I also don’t know when I might see him again. My mind tries to race but falls on its numb legs. So, there is silence and it feels natural and more organic then talk.

We hug briefly before I go. As much as we both try to make it warm embrace, it ends up being hurried and clumsy, as we both try to overcome the pain and the fear of the unknown.

....PART 2

I can’t sit so I pace the room, throwing glances at the door. He comes in, in a shirt with New York on it that was in my package to him today.

He briefly touches my cheek with his lips.
‘As soon as I saw this shirt I knew you were here’, he says. I can’t tell if he is excited, or embarrassed or both.
We sit down on a bench while Ivanovich sits at the table. I put my hand on his back. I know I can’t hold him, even though I really want to, since the guard is right behind the door with that deceitful window.

‘Sorry I won’t be able to leave you here alone guys’, says Ivanovich. We nod.

‘How are you’, as I say it I know how stupid the question sounds.
‘Well, I am ok. Well…’
I know it’s not true just looking at him. He lost weight and there are sores on his greyish face. For the first time he tells me what the conditions for them are really like.

NOVEMBER 5TH 2008. STARLITE DINER, MOSCOW

Moscow, November 5th. At 7 am my phone rang and Mom screamed excitedly ‘we won’! Ten minutes later I was braving November morning cold and what seemed like the early stages of pneumonia to get to the Starlite Diner, the place where American Democrats in Russia were meeting for breakfast.

Running into the restaurant I saw everyone’s eyes glued to the screen. I caught the second half of new president’s historic speech. Next few hours were filled with tears, champagne, Wolf Blitzer, scrambled eggs and happiness. On my way home on a Moscow metro I felt like I was in the same carriage as the people around me but we were in completely different worlds. My facial expression, light and cheerful, clashed with the grim faces with eyes in which someone switched off all the light. Asia, Africa, Europe, even China embraced this new world that came to be that morning, but not Russia. Never mind guys. Maybe later. In recognising this you’ll be late (and stiff) like you are in everything else.

When Morgan Freeman played American president in Deep Impact in mid 90s it seemed equally cool and as it did unlikely. I was too young to understand why it felt like that intellectually and it was rather on a sense level, like measuring room temperature. We have now overcome that ‘unlikely’ feeling and the temperature that measures our kindness, intelligence, tolerance, openness has changed. As it turns out we didn’t give ourselves enough credit. It is true that Barack ran for president as an American and not as a black man and won the election because he truly is an outstanding man and not on the grounds of his skin color. However, the fact remains - he is the first African American to be elected to highest office in the country and, still, in all likelihood, in the world. It is the fact we should all be proud of.

NASHI GLAMYRIKI

The most gorgeous and glamorous young people of Moscow. Super trendy, groomed and chick. Super wealthy and super cool. Women in high boots and with long silky hair, men with traces of ‘metro-sexuality’ and aura of immense self-importance. Many local celebs are here too. Recent collagen jobs are evident here and there. I would say they were clones of the Beverly Hills crowd except there is something a little different here. Perhaps it is that they are not exactly clones but replicas. A replica of something that is already fake - is there a word for that?

The Russian fashion week is happening at Gostiny Dvor, minutes away from the Red Square and Kremlin. Designer Antonina Shapovalova, who is a member of Nashi youth movement, has her own slot. Her young, good-looking, trendy comrades are on hand for support. Their very obvious prosperity leads one to believe that there is no way these people might have a care in the world for anything or anyone. Especially not for the future of Russia and its jobless, smelly, teeth-missing poor. It is impossible to see how they might find enough time and desire to actually carry out their own analasys of what’s going on in the country or come to their own independent conclusions. They are patriots while everything they wear, eat, drink and drive is foreign. They don’t drive Ladas or wear Krasnyay Zarya perfume or go on a break to a hut village in Tambov province. And they will never produce a thing for this country, that’s for sure.
The young elite needed a group to belong to and now they do. Of course it had to be a group that would speak the language of the powerful, thus, as it works in Russia, the wealthy. And the language they think the ‘common person’ can understand and trust. The wealth of their families is a result of loyalty or even direct connection to Kremlin, so this is like coming home. And for Kremlin the idea of a unified youth supporting government’s position is always handy. It sure was in the Nazi Germany and the USSR. So I call them, lovingly, ‘Nashisti’. In Russian it sounds very much like ‘Facsisti’, Fascists. Sorry if it’s a bit harsh guys. The mirror is over there.

A humble man yet a leader, a man of principal, honor and dignity. A great Man.

WE WON!

Today the world has changed. It has become a better place. Long time coming we have now been given a pass into a new future. We will be ok, ladies and gentlemen, I now believe we will make it.

After days of my personal hell with Nashi, I hope for a wonderful day and Barack's victory today!

TAMBOV, 08. PART 1

The 7-hour car trip is tough. I try to sleep in the car but wit little luck.
Tambov is a very rural and in many ways still very Soviet. Radio is playing early 90s tunes like Modern Talking, Alisa etc. The architecture is made up of wooden huts and Stalin era buildings. Grim.
We drive to the court, a formal looking building over a green alley. We drop off Ivanovich, the attorney and go to the jail. As we’re driving I tell Tolya all the details about me and A. and he now doesn’t outrule the set up of the situation. We sit in front of the jail store. On its window it says ‘vodka beer’ on, but neither is on sale.
‘Shall we try to get me in to see him?’ I ask.
‘We’ll see” says Tolya.
About 25 men and women in uniform march into the prison block. There will be searches.
A call from attorney, the case will go back to court, as we wanted.
We pick him up and drive back to prison. He suggests we try to get me in as his assistant. Tolya goes to pass my parcel, sausages, cheese, sweets, while Ivanovich and I decide to embark on our little show, hoping to pull it off. I am tired yet alert.

Judging by the colour of their faces most people who work here seem to be on a drinking binge. Every room and passage is dark and smoky. Everyone is puffing on their terrible quality Marlboros or Parliament (I know, I’ve tried them). The ongoing sound of heavy metal doors angrily being shut and large dogs barking. I later see it is, as I expected, German Shepherd. It is all pretty much like in the movies.
With each step the feeling is heavier.

We go to 3 more dusty, smelly offices, where I endure many more eyes staring back at me with suspicion as attorney and I are playing out our ‘I will fire you if you will forget your pass again’ scene, before my ten times stamped slip becomes my pass inside.

After our bags are take from us and another set of metal doors are slammed shut behind us and we climb a set of stairs.

‘Turn left here’, says Ivanovich. We come to a row of numbered doors.

‘ You can go to number 3’ the guard said.
We enter. The room is empty except for a wooden bench table and chair and a peanut can used as an ashtray. I pretend to be ok. It’s a kind of pretending I am used to.

WAR 08.08.08 The movie

Yesterday i was invited to a screening of a documentary film that was to reveal 'the truth of Georgia's attack on South Osetia'. It had almost a Hollywood name. 'War 08.08.08. The betrayal.'

Here is a link.

http://www.russia.ru

It was implied, of course, that it was Georgia's 'Big Brother' the US that was fully behind it. A cute joke was told about how America confused it's own state of Georgia with Georgia the country. Film was made on government cash and the presentation, judging by the pastries and fresh fruit before the screening and Osetian dishes we were invited to taste after the film, was also financed well.
The phrases in the film such as 'brutal killing of civilians' and 'genocide' made me cringe. After the screening the makers politely asked if there were any questions, expecting none. I raised my hand. 'Do you not think this film has striking similarities with films, alas not widely available, about the Chechen war?' I asked. The makers went pale. after a pause in response there was some mumbling by one of them and we were asked to proceed to the cafeteria. I chose not to push it. The glances i got told me i was now an enemy. Enemy or not I still had some food before I left )

ZERO...

Today I have finally realised the full impact of the current economic. It is not uncommon that those realisations on an emotional level, as oppose to intellectual, happen when you or someone close to you takes a hit. I got a call from a close friend and loyal supporter of my work from Europe who told me he has gone bankrupt. From $40 million net in his own money and a well-to-do company to pretty much ZERO. He was sitting in a bar, drinking. He is also divorcing his wife so will be spending a night ina hotel. When i said i will call him tomorrow he said he is not sure if there will be a tomorrow for him. And I don't think he was exaggerating all that much and that scared me.
He is an extremely intelligent man who knows more about classical music and especially violinists, it's his thing, than anyone I know. But he doesn't love his wife and never had any goal, let alone a cause, other than making money. Not in order to buy expensive watches, he is not into it, but market has become his life. And you can't, you just can't give your life to that.

Victor Erofeeev

Victor Erofeev, one of the most famous living Russian writers, is under a full blown attack by the main government controlled channel for his criticism of the channel's policies. On a presumably intellectual program 'Gordon Kihot' (ref. to Don Kihot by Miguel de Cervantes) an open attempt to destroy personality of Victor Erofeev was made last night. Whatever one might think of his writing i have great respect for this man. There is also a personal reason for it, i admit. He was one of very few well-known creative people who came to my defence when my play was banned in Russia. In my turn, I will now, of course, voice my outrage over this.

ANNA

Two years since Anna Politkovskaya was murdered. The case has now gone to court. The process is likely to be closed to the press. The killer has not been found so the trial will be over a few middle men who, by definition, cannot know very much. And we will not publicly hear the name of the actual person behind this assassination for years to come.

Rest in peace, amazing, talented, loving, giving man, Paul Newman. I cried yesterday for the first time in a while.