HE RE-EDUCATED SHAKIDS

CAUCASUS KNOT

On September 13, in the now famous Chechen-Ingush police battle that took place at a checkpoint near the border of Chechnya and Ingushetia, he was mortally wounded in the head and soon died, the deputy commander of the OMON of the Chechen Republic, Buvadi Dakhiev. Completely irrespective of the reason...

On September 13, in the now famous Chechen-Ingush police battle that took place at a checkpoint near the border of Chechnya and Ingushetia, he was mortally wounded in the head and soon died, the deputy commander of the OMON of the Chechen Republic, Buvadi Dakhiev. Quite apart from the reasons for the battle that happened - they are understandable, replicated and appreciated - I want to tell about Buvadi something that could not be described during his lifetime. And it will not just be a tribute to the memory of a person who helped work more than once during the war, and at such moments when the price of refusing to help could well be a fatal outcome.

Buvadi is a special person, he was all woven from contradictions and consisted of two halves. If any associations arose, it was with Khrushchev's tombstone at the Novodevichy Cemetery in Moscow. Half - black-black. Half - white-white.

On the one hand, you will come in, Buvadi is a security officer from the security forces, of which there are a lot in Chechnya, an officer of the so-called pro-Moscow Chechen security forces; but not a new wave - when, at the behest of Kadyrov, criminals and militants began to rule in them, but a representative of the Dudayev opposition, who had faithfully served the Chechen OMON since 1995, and this meant an absolute pro-Russian principled orientation, when Chechnya is only a part of Russia. For which he had medals and the Order of Courage, became a lieutenant colonel. When Maskhadov and Basayev were in power, Buvadi did not live in Chechnya on principle. The second war came, he began to fight, he was in the forefront against Maskhadov and Basayev.

At times, this path was extremely cruel. Let's call a spade a spade: in the Chechen riot police, it's not kids, torn pants, sweets divided - there people work to shoot, but shoot to kill until they kill you. The riot police took people away, and they took them to the end, and they beat them there, and what they didn’t do.

In August, on our very last meeting with Buvadi in Grozny, he, without looking up and angrily biting into a watermelon, as if the watermelon was to blame for something, nervous and therefore eating the red pulp at the speed of a starving man, with all his might turned off the conversation about one Chechen a student who was cleared by riot police and was listed as a riot police, and then disappeared into nowhere, and now the mother of this student, Alikhana Kuloeva, pensioner Aminat Kuloeva, rushes around Chechnya along with other mothers of the same kind and prays to everyone who comes across to at least put in a word before Buvadi - maybe she will tell where her only son is ...

Actually, I spoke up. But Buvadi was silent: there is nothing to answer, there was a student - there is no student. Buvadi: “Yes, he was not to blame for anything ...” - “Then why didn’t they let him go?”.

... Buvadi was silent, tearing at the watermelon rind.

On the other hand, Buvadi was cruel as often as he was soft, and many others were not soft at all. All Chechen security officials are divided into those who think before they kill, and those who have long lost the habit of thinking. Buwadi tried to understand who was in the target. And this saved a lot of lives, and from among the seemingly hopeless, according to the principles of the Chechen meat grinder.

In narrow Chechen circles, Buvadi was known as a person who saved the widows of emirs, who were ordered to be destroyed as potential suicide bombers.

What was this salvation? After the kidnapping of widows, Buwadi took them to his house, to which he had no right.

What were they doing at Buvadi's? We went through something like overexposure, quarantine - if, of course, I can put it that way. Buwadi would come home from work and talk to them all night long. In this house of his, similar to a barracks, Buvadi settled potential suicide bombers for many weeks - and this is not an exaggeration at all, indeed they were fully formed bombers, since they got to Buvadi already trained, trained by their husbands and their comrades and explosives, and driving a bus to crash when and where they point ...

- Why did you need it?

They all had children...

- And the children lived here?

Yes, they were here with children. I wanted to understand: are they lost? Will they still be able to bring up their own children, or “already all”? ..

Looking ahead, I’ll say: none of them left his house “lost”. The result of this strange educational work of OMON officer Buvadi in the most outcast Chechen environment that one can imagine was mothers saved for their own children, often underage mothers who, after brainwashing by Buvadi, really began to understand that they were first and foremost mothers...

“And they started with the fact that “just let me die for my husband” ... They didn’t take a piece of my bread in my mouth,” Buvadi said. “Because my bread is from the infidels. They did not touch their children, as if there were no children. He sits in a hijab as if dead, and that's it.

- And then what happened?

- I talked, after two or three days they began to eat. Some even took off their hijabs - they just put on a scarf in Chechen style. She was the one who robbed us. Wahhabi - me too! In fact, there was only one of them. Then, when they came to life, I arranged for them to live somewhere. And abroad, and here, in Russia. I was looking for relatives to live somewhere far away from big cities, called, agreed.

We discuss motivation: why does he need all this?

What did they see, those girls? Buwadi explained to me. - At their age, we were pioneers, we went to pioneer camps, went to the cinema, ate ice cream ... But they didn’t see anything of this. That's how it all happened. I felt guilty towards them.

- What is your conclusion about suicide bombers? Hopeless?

- No, Wahhabis - for most of them, this is not a sentence. It is their empty brains that they simply powdered.

I will not name the names of the young widows saved by Buvadi - there is no need. The main thing is that they themselves know who they are talking about, to whom they owe a second life. Having already been sent to Buvadi somewhere far away from the Caucasus, they continued to call him, consulted what to do in this or that situation... This was the case until September 13 of this year.

The year is 2002… Or maybe the very end of 2001. Winter. A hard winter - they shoot, blow up, but at least Kadyrov-son is still standing in the corner when the adults are talking. Underground jamaats in Grozny are a dime a dozen, and most of them are teenagers - 14, 16 years old ...

“I feel so sorry for them,” said Buwadi, who had more than once commanded operations to destroy them. - Surround - they understand that they will die soon, and I listen on the radio to what they are talking about.

Why did you feel sorry for them?

- Yes, as with shahids. Didn't live at all, didn't see anything. I understand this as my personal fault that they took away their childhood. How many times they asked me, shouted from the houses that we surrounded: "Uncle, let me die!" And I let them explode, because I knew what would happen when we take them alive. And parents used to convey their last words.

For some reason, this August, we again especially recalled the stories about the boys from the jamaats who were killed by him. Buvadi rejoiced that there was no stupid law forbidding the giving away of bodies back then.

“I myself gave their bodies to my parents… And now, how would I give them back?”

In the same 2002 or 2003, we discuss who the Wahhabis are, in his opinion. And what to do with them. At that time, the pro-Russian Chechens spoke only nasty things about the Wahhabis, and nothing but nasty things, and they killed without a second thought.

And Buvadi allowed himself aloud the following:

There were bandits among them. There were completely clean people. And they killed everyone.

Before my eyes - a picture where he says this to me. The second floor in the “white box” of the OMON building in Grozny is the office of the OMON commander, then Mussa Gazimagomadov, who later died. Some incomprehensible drunken officers of the Russian special services (“Russians”) are roaming around with the detached eyes of killers - from the “death squadrons”, from the Central Security Service of the FSB, from the GRU. Buwadi's comrades in war. Buwadi puts down the snacks, the bottles, and explains something to them too.

- Pure people? But how can they be clean, if, they say ... - And I repeat something so terrible from the life of those who were called Wahhabis.

Buwadi breaks off:

— My brother was a Wahhabi. He was an absolutely pure person. I have never seen such clean ones. Not before him. Not after. Clean in everything - in thoughts, in everyday life. I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't swear, I didn't do anything bad.

- Did you get involved?

- Never. Didn't force anything on me.

"And where is he now?"

- Died.

And after a half-minute pause, with great pride, even with joy, with a smile - as if about the fact that my brother received the Nobel Prize:

- Died in battle. As it should be.

Those who drank and ate at that moment stopped. For such pride in a Wahhabi in the stronghold of the anti-Wahhabi movement, one could quickly follow his brother.

Then came Kadyrov-son. And how he began to hate Buvadi! He tried to fasten everyone to the militants: “You help!”. All this summer, Buvadi was displacing OMON away from Chechnya, driving him out of Chechnya ... This is when the absolutely nasty Chechenization began and meanness in the republic became honorable, like courage, Buvadi, this warrior to the marrow of his bones, began to remember his brother, and Buvadi was accused of being with militants flirting, since he opened suicide bomber rescue courses at home ...

But Buwadi never ceased to be proud of the purity of his Wahhabi brother and the salvation of mothers for their children. He never stooped to even keep quiet about it. In a situation similar to Buvadi, when siblings are on opposite sides, today there are very many in Chechnya. The civil war so shoveled families, bringing down their morality, that it became completely different: to publicly renounce brothers if they do not surrender to well-known banners.

There are two versions of Buvadi's death. The first, "black", who arrived at the place of the police Chechen-Ingush showdown, slapped the Ingush policeman and was immediately shot.

I don’t believe in her: he could shoot, in the face - no, not his style, he knew too well what followed in the Vainakh quarrel.

The second version: when the turmoil began, Buvadi was not there, but he was somewhere nearby and immediately rushed to calm down. He got out of the car, began to persuade him to stop and look around - and they fired at him with machine gun fire.

I think it was. And I am glad that Buvadi was himself to the last: he persuaded me not to shoot. Although he himself knew how to shoot at live targets perfectly. But Buvadi spent the last hours of his life in his "white" half.

“Everyone is tired of the war,” he told me a month before his death. “Everyone needs to be reconciled.

In official Chechnya today there is an acute shortage of such people - not angels, but restless and suffering. In Chechnya, more and more straightforward and unicellular. To kill them is like taking a sip of tea. To understand a person, one who has been declared an enemy in advance for living differently, is inaccessible to single-celled people.

What does it mean to “understand” in Chechen conditions? To understand is to save life. This is the price of tolerance, there is no other there yet. Moreover, it still seems to many that the amnesty games are a story about some kind of Kadyrov's tolerance, about how he "saves militants" and saves the nation.

These are lies. They bind everyone with even more blood - and so that these handcuffs keep people close. Buvadi, on the other hand, wanted to tie the opportunity to live without his participation - this is fundamental. He gave people a second attempt, although the position obliged them to interrupt the first one. He gave it just like that - and there is no one to replace Buvadi on this field.

... The last time, for some reason, we parted for a long time.

- At least there is a machine gun in the house where you will spend the night? Buvadi did not calm down.

- There is no machine gun. I don’t want a machine gun, I mutter. - Tired of machine guns. Seven years already machines. Aren't you tired of it?

Buwadi is silent, but in solidarity. Buvadi is also fed up with machine guns, eternal fear. He was mortally tired of not parting with his weapons, sleeping in camouflage and living in a house that looked like a barracks ... They say that those who are tired die.