#6534
#13
Neue Zürcher Zeitung
October 31, 2002
Life Among the Ruins
Anxiety and Humiliation in the Chechen Capital
By Peter Winkler (nzz@co.ru)
Three years after the start of the second Russian campaign in Chechnya, as a visit reveals, it is not so much the extensive destruction which upsets the residents of Grozny as the hopelessness and frustration of life in the city. At the same time, Moscow is trying to persuade increasing numbers of Chechen refugees to return from exile.
A gloomy sky stretches over the flatlands through which the main road runs connecting the republic of Ingushetia (part of the Russian Federation) with the Chechen capital of Grozny. Often, dense bushes on both sides grow close to the edges of the road, on which armored Russian army vehicles alternate at irregular intervals with roadblocks thrown up by every conceivable kind of "security force." At certain spots you can see that a stretch of land was cleared of vegetation on both sides of the road. But since then bushes and trees have grown back to heights of two or three meters - ideal terrain for ambushes and mine traps.
No Reconstruction in Sight
For three years now, the Russian government has been conducting its second war in Chechnya against separatists, bandits, Islamic fanatics - and against a civilian population caught between the fronts. It is surprising with what self-assuredness the tank teams along this road aim their cannons toward the trees not even five meters away. Or is it just slovenliness? Approaching Grozny, you can see the towers big and small marking the drilling sites from which first-class Chechen petroleum is produced (mostly illegally). Regular though poorly paid work for Chechens is to be found only in the security forces, the secret service, or in such quasi- and fully illegal businesses as oil production and refining. The first-mentioned types of employment are exceedingly dangerous, since rebels assiduously hunt down collaborators. The lucrative oil business, which is obviously flourishing with the active support of the Russian security forces, is tricky, since a person may easily be caught between two rival gangs; it will also leave behind an ecological disaster which at some point will require massive cleanup efforts.
Time and again the people of Grozny have been promised that they will be taken care of, their needs met. In Moscow, billions of rubles have been officially set aside for reconstruction and the support of the sorely tried civilian populace. But all that is visible so far is a few cosmetic retouches. An elderly woman, waiting in the Staropromislovsky neighborhood for a food distribution from the Danish Refugee Council (DRC), one of the leading humanitarian organizations operating in Chechnya, complains that even in this relatively undamaged quarter she must spend 15 rubles every day to buy water. The power supply does not function either, and the gas supply fails almost daily. Not far away, in the same neighborhood, stands a 10-story apartment block. From the outside it looks totally undamaged. It is one of the temporary housing centers built by the Russians - and they plan several more - to lure Chechens who fled to Ingushetia, Dagestan or southern Russia to return home. From these temporary centers they are later to be resettled in proper apartments and houses - though no one knows when that will be.
How long is temporary?
Some 800 people live in this massive block, between three and five persons to a room. There is no running water here either. The residents have to draw the precious fluid in buckets from a tank in front of the building and carry it on foot to their rooms. There are sinks in the communal kitchen on each floor, but their drain pipes go nowhere, and the building's toilets cannot be used because there is no sewer system. People have to go down to the few courtyard latrines to relieve themselves. But that is impossible at night, because there is a nighttime curfew, and in any case the danger to life and limb increases substantially when darkness arrives. "Does this mean," asks one of our visiting group, "that the soldiers can shoot at anything that moves?" The laconic answer comes: "They don't even have to wait for nightfall to do that."
The temporary housing has become the subject of heated polemics, because they are the most visible symbol of Moscow's policy of presenting the Chechnya conflict as something which has been essentially resolved. The refugee populations in the neighboring republics are especially disruptive of that policy, because they pointedly illustrate that the war is not over. That is why the refugees are being encouraged, with more or less gentle pressure and generous promises, to return to Chechnya - to their own homes at best, or to temporary housing if necessary. The government has plans to provide quarters for more than 10,000 people by the end of this year, which seems a rather unrealistic goal. Moreover, the housing block our group has visited is considered very well equipped compared to others.
As we are in the process of saying farewell to the residents, their need to speak of the difficult living conditions in Grozny breaks through. "Tell the refugees in Ingushetia to stay there," says one man. "There's no safety here. Life in the tents over there was harsh, but at least we felt safe." A woman calls over the heads of the people around her: "The biggest problem is that none of the promised compensation has been paid us, not for our property, not for our suffering or for our lost futures." Another woman adds: "Many of us have physical problems. There are hospitals, but nothing is free there. Where are we supposed to find the money to pay for medical care?"
In Hospital No. 9
Hospital Number 9 has a special significance to Grozny's estimated 300-400,000 inhabitants. It is the only one of the city's 15 clinics to have an emergency room open day and night. Despite her blond hair and light blue eyes, ER nurse Asa Makhtiyeva, 53, is a genuine Chechen. Most of the patients in her ER have suffered bullet wounds or been wounded by an exploding mine. During our visit, there were 16 such patients on her ward. "The great majority of patients only want first aid, then they disappear," declared the nurse. "Those who remain as in-patients have to be officially registered. Many people don't want that, or can't afford for it to happen, because then they are suspected of being terrorists. And anyone with money takes a wounded family member to a hospital outside the war zone."
Nurse Makhtiyeva emphasizes that care in the hospital is gratis in principle, but admits that there are constant bottlenecks when it comes to supplies. Two days earlier, she relates, she had received from an aid group a shipment of 400 injections for her ward of 33 patients. "Within 24 hours we had used up 230 of them." Still, she declares, the situation is better than it was a year ago, when patients' relatives had to bring all supplies in from the outside when they came.
Self-Respect
What prompted this woman to remain in Grozny instead of fleeing like so many others? Makhtiyeva relates how, when the bombing began at the start of the war, she had heard doctors and other nurses making plans to get away. But an elderly woman, confined to an emergency bed out in the corridor, had grabbed her arm and said: "I can't believe you could really abandon us." And that made it clear to her that she would have to stay. "It was a matter of self-respect." After a brief hesitation, Makhtiyeva reveals another reason for remaining in the war zone: "My whole family was deported to Kazakhstan under Stalin, and they all dreamed of one day returning to their homeland. I'm the only one to have made it back here. I must stay, I owe it to my family."
In a very heavily destroyed neighborhood near the city center stand the remains of 8-, 10- and 12-story apartment buildings. One of our group's Chechen drivers recalls that some of his school friends lived here. One of the housing blocks was so big and extended so far that they called it "the Great Wall of China." Now, on the second floor in the right-hand corner, there is a balcony covered only by a red blanket. Two floors higher and about 10 windows to the left, thin plastic sheeting seals the black holes that once were windows - indications that there are still people living here, that they are sticking it out even though there is neither electricity, water, nor gas. By the time it grows dark each evening they have to pull back into their holes, because then the streets belong to the armed men: the military, the rebels, police "special units," secret police, and the common bandits and robbers. And all these people have to protect them from those frightening elements is thin plastic sheeting over their windows, and a total blackout in the dark of night, because even a candle or a kerosene lamp could attract unwelcome attention.
"People Are Living Here"
Our police-escorted convoy is almost always casually waved through the countless, massively fortified roadblocks set up at sensitive points which rebels are most likely to attack, usually with land mines. Ordinary drivers are forced to stop at these points, and it is common to see men, ID papers in hand, talking earnestly or furiously with heavily armed police or soldiers. "I could understand it if it was really about security," says our interpreter from Grozny. "But mostly it's just about money. The checkpoints are divided into 'tens' and 'fifties,' depending on how many rubles the armed guards demand per passenger." Those who have no money may suddenly find themselves in considerable danger. There are countless reports of arbitrary arrests at the roadblocks, and family members then have to purchase the freedom of their imprisoned relatives.
In the neighborhood called Posyolok Kalinina, the Danish Refugee Council distributes building materials to those who want to restore their partially ruined homes. There is no guarantee that the houses will not be destroyed again, however. Witness the neighborhood's mosque: damage to the minaret in the first Chechen war was repaired with modest means, but then a tank shell tore a huge hole in the tower during the second campaign. The onion dome which formerly crowned the minaret now lies dented by the roadside. At a nearby house which is being restored with help from the Danish aid group, the words "People Live Here" are painted on the fence in crude brush strokes - on the one hand, a warning to plunderers who systematically and totally dismantle abandoned houses, and at the same time a plea to the security forces not to fire upon the building.
Flotsam of History
Two women approach our group, which is standing in front of a market stall with fruits, vegetables and a few basic food staples, discussing the house renovations with beneficiaries of the building materials distribution. "This is my friend," says the first woman in a lively tone, as the other woman, dressed in coarse work clothes, torn training pants and the ubiquitous "Made in China" sandals, looks around her shyly out of large, dark eyes. "She's Russian," adds the first woman. Most of the survivors among the 10,000 or so Russians who lived in Chechnya before the wars have fled. Why has this woman remained? "Because I have nowhere else to go," comes the reply. She begins to weep almost immediately, keeps hastily wiping the tears from her face, gratefully grasps the hand which her Chechen friend places on her arm. The woman hesitantly relates that three generations of her family have lived here in Chechnya. Her only child died shortly after birth and now only she and her husband remain, flotsam of the pain-filled history of the North Caucasus. The elderly couple keep themselves alive picking up part-time work wherever they can. And what does this Russian woman feel when she looks around at the destruction Russians have wreaked in Grozny? "Pain," she says between tears.
A Chechen woman who has come to shop at the market stall suddenly begins protesting angrily: "Why do you have to speak with this Russian person, when we face such big problems?" A small crowd assembles, voices grow louder. Armed guards quickly appear to break up the crowd, lest the situation swiftly get out of hand. "In Grozny," remarks the chief guard, "the next gun or hand grenade is never far away."
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