Where to put a rage?

This feeling does not leave us who knew Anna Politkovskaya, even on her birthday

Today, August 30, to the white marble stone in the Troekurovsky cemetery - it looks like a sheet of a notebook, shot through in five places - people with flowers will come. Because Anna Stepanovna Politkovskaya was 60 years old.

At the memorial plaque on the building of Novaya Gazeta, living roses appeared in the early morning.

The garden, discovered recently in her honor, is very carefully bypassed by the repairmen who got to Potapovsky Lane with the replacement of the borders - so that no flower could suffer.

Thousands of people shared her photographs on Facebook.

But still, sorry, I can’t be complacency that day-on the day when it seems that you need to remember something good.

Because a month later - another date.

The one that is furious.

There is such a lean tank, which forces something to do, to run somewhere, to meet with someone, to write posts or yell at the intersection, despite the fact that neither the first, nor the second, nor the tenth can lead to anything.

I saw this rage in the eyes of Anna Stepanovna twice. And in the second case, she may have managed to change the course of events.

2003, autumn, elections to the State Duma - well, the very ones, after which one could forget about democracy and, as a result of which Yuri Shchochikhin, who was poisoned a few months earlier, could never have become a deputy from the Yabloko party. Anna Politkovskaya arrived in the night edition, which exhibited the next numbers from the CEC to the site. With a bottle of vodka. At five in the morning. She did not respect vodka, there was no applied benefit to the visit, but the powerless rage to do at least something-she led to this.

2004. Beslan, children are hostages. In the morning, the editorial office has angry dialogs. One, second, third ... with militants, with generals, with Chechen emigrants. Politkovskaya wanted the leader of the separatists Maskhadov to come to school and save who he could. The powerless rage led to the result - Maskhadov promised, but asked for a security corridor. After that, Politkovskaya flew to Beslan. On the way, on the plane, she was poisoned.

In the eyes of this miracle of the surviving woman lying in the ward of the Rostov clinic, where she was saved, overlapping with bottles of cola filled with boiling water, since only green was in the presence of other medicines, the same rage boiled. After all, no one was able to save anyone.

So, about rage.

October 7 will be a different date. 12 years from the moment she was shot, while Anya tried to build the logistics of movements from the hospital where the sick mother lies, to the cemetery, where the newly buried dad lies, to her daughter, who was supposed to give her granddaughter.

Anya did not see her granddaughter.

Like the grandson who was born this year, just recently.

For all this time that has passed since the murder, the immeasurable thousands of generals and colonels, who are so proud of the state, which allowed the woman’s reprisal not without the help of employees of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, could not find customers of the crime.

Yes, the performers and part of the organizers received deadlines. For this you need to say "thank you"? Especially if you take into account that without the lawyers of the victims - Anna Stavitskaya and Karinna Moskalenko - as well as the journalists of Novaya Gazeta, this would not have happened.

Meanwhile, the matter from the “especially important” was flowing into the category of ordinary. No one knows even the surname of the investigator (maybe at least he will respond to this article?).

Meanwhile, one of the organizers of the murder died in the colony, who knew everything, but either did not want or could not interrogate.

Meanwhile, people who, with a great degree of evidence, suffered from the same customers were killed/kicked out/expelled/expelled.

Need to summarize somehow?

Let's remember Anya.

Flowers are right.

But where to put a rage?