Translated material
Russian shame
The diary of a volunteer from St. Petersburg, who meets refugees at the Berlin Central Station.
Stas Leontyev moved to Germany a year ago, on a working visa, works as a designer in the agency. He says that the departure from Russia was not caused by political reasons at all: “I went here - for culture, for music, for life in which I am not afraid and are not afraid of me, in which I can develop in any direction I want, and my children will have the same opportunities.” He says that in Germany there is no anxiety that is inherent in everyone in Russia.
He stopped watching TV 20 years ago, and since then he had the feeling that he and society around live in different worlds. He went to design to be able to positively influence people, somehow improve what is happening. And then I realized that sometimes society simply does not have this need - to improve, to change.
He believes that in Russia there is no request to move forward, even vice versa: there is a desire for slowdown. And he is by no means close to him.
He heard many times: do not like it - leave. This is his third departure. The first two times he returned. He says that the immigrant life is a “rather difficult thing”. The third time, apparently, will not return back.
Stas Leontyev in a jacket for volunteers helping refugees from Ukraine. Photo from the personal archive
Stas does not know what happened to his fellow citizens. He does not understand how the killing of people can be justified. He does not fit in his head that people can support this. “But, when I see these supportive ones, I think they do not fully understand what they support.” This, according to Stas, led us to this: “Recently we celebrated the Victory Day so that we had won the UEFA Cup. I always had to watch it woeful. After all, this is grief, this is mourning. ”
To the question asked to myself: "Are I to blame?" -He answers: "Yes, about 1/150 millionth."
When “these events” began, he took a vacation at work, put on the cover of his page on Facebook the inscription “Russian shame” and went to the Berlin-Glavny station as a volunteer to meet refugees.
There, at the station, when it helps, solves specific problems, it is assembled, focused. And in the mornings at home, when the people he saw and their stories pop up in his memory, he cries.
He has already worked as a volunteer for two weeks. Every day I saw a lot of trouble, horror, pain, fear and beauty (where a person helps a person - there is always beauty there). And captured it in his diary. "New" publishes excerpts from it.
March 4
Volunteering and donates are the best cure for Russian shame.
***
They placed a family, mother, son of 18 years old and a girl 12, with three beautiful fair Berlin feminists. Mom with the children needed to stay somewhere night until the morning train. After all, Hastla with the search for tickets, host and transport, my mother asked me:
- Thank you very much. Where are you from? What is your name?
- My name is Stas. I'm from St. Petersburg. I am from Russia ... I am very sorry ...
“Mmm, I see ...” the woman said, went back half a step, blushed with her cheeks, the tip of the nose, and tears rolled over her eyes. Previously, they usually answered me: “Oh! St. Petersburg, a very beautiful city, always dreamed/and go there! " And I said something like: "Come only in the summer, the rest of the time there is quite fierce."
***
They wanted a mother with a girl of 16 and a 9 -year -old boy. They are so small, a miniature family. They said that if that - the three of them to fit on the same bed. The girl shot the station, laid out in Tick-Tok. She had a fashionable black scarf, like a satellite1985 or a top. The boy was in a red -shaped jumpsuit and with a brown bear. They had quite a lot of things: one normal bag, and everything else is in plastic bags.
***
At the end of the shift, already at one in the morning, there was one mother with a child. She found a bench at the station and wanted to wait for the next train there. Very frozen, the child was caught. I said: “Let's go to us. We usually do not host anyone at home, but we have a normal battery, and the heating account is already on rent. ” On the station square showed her in the distance the luminous dome of the Reichstag. She asked: "What is the Reichstag?" And I did not even know how to explain! Simply put, something like the Kremlin now, right?
To retell in the details of its two-hour PTSR-monologist ( PTSD-post-traumatic stress disorder. - Ed. ) About how they grabbed everything in a row, how six hours were traveling in a train without toilets, how they were warmed up at the Polish border, how they almost wrapped them up, about the fake host, that they had disadvantaged brother and mother, that they only have money. In hryvnias and in the train they did not sell boiling water ... In general, I will not be about everything. It turned out that she had breast cancer and that the day after the evacuation, she had a reservation in the oncocenter. She was even called back, asked whether she would come, they said that they were still working in normal mode. She refused tea and food, kept my passport all the time.
Still her son, a boy of 8 years old, very briskly told how they hid from bombs and ate free chocolate bars ...
Ukrainian refugees, station Berlin, March 9, 2022. Photo: EPA
March 5
Mom, with an adult child, the boy has neuralgia. They escaped from Kyiv. They took only documents and money. Two large bags were collected on the road: “We urgently in the migration center, we need refugee status, we urgently need to go to the migration center! We have only six and a half hours left. We need refugee status, we need a manual. ” And immediately about the political crisis: “There are no words on the hell. I can’t even say to him! Well, what to call?! He sits there so that he died, such a piece! We barely carried our feet! " They were brought by a girl from Slovakia in her car. Monica. Monica told me that I was an Inkredel. And I replied that I was normal, and Inkredel - she. “She generally brought us for free, she refueled three or four times, she didn’t take any money from us. As I say: you know, let's at least pay for gasoline ... I think the Americans somehow give money to her so that she was transporting people like us. ” The woman spoke more with an accent than in Ukrainian: “I was generally born myself, you know where? Elektrostal, the Moscow region, has lived in the city of friendship all her life, on the border just Ukraine, Belarus and Russia. There are shelling now. ” Mom was very alarming. Everything tried to at least choose a family where to live better, asked for recommendations. They were lucky, they were taken by parishioners of the Evangelist Church from a small town somewhere in the West. They promised to help with refugee status. “Oh, my grandmother always told me that they, the Baptists, would not bury their own, they will heal the nails in the coffins and ... (Then I turned off a little, I don’t remember).” He replied that my grandfather was a Baptist. And that he is good.
This woman also asked me about the origin. And here I am a little Cerecis ... I talked about the blockade and that I grew up on stories about the horrors of war. About how people lived and died, what the truth saw in the museum that very blockage bread in coupons. I remembered Tanya Savichev ...
*
Some grandfather with his granddaughter burst into tears when he found out that all these volunteers (and there really was a legion there) came to offer them housing. That they all want to shelter someone. Another woman is sobbing: she is afraid to go to strangers, does not know either English or German. People applaud each other when hosts find and take one of the refugees to them. Basically, the demand for a mother with two children. Nobody took a man with an adult son. Frightened. Although both cannot serve in health. They stayed at the station and will go further in the morning, south. A week later, their large family will come to them.
*
And this alarming whisper of refugees here and there, behind, is cautious, as if from a shelter: "These are Russians, they are Russians ...".
*
There is no strength to read the news, all the forces remained there at the station.
March 6
The sister of one of the women, whom I had already helped, wrote off me. At first I ached that, they say, I have a day off, that there is already full of volunteers, I painted all the procedures in detail ... But then I decided that I would go to meet them myself. It is strange to refuse when you are directly asked.
The refugee arrived with the boy of ten years quite light. She said that it was useless to take things. The suitcases are simply thrown out of the train to take more people. The entire platform is littered with abandoned luggage, abandoned dogs and abandoned cats: “You can’t imagine what is happening there!” He conducted it according to a standard procedure: tea, empathy, donated things, a free SIM card, a ticket to the next city and overnight.
In the children's section, the child chose books and developing games. I did not connect to Wi-Fui. While we solved volunteer issues, the boy stood and read. I really regretted that I had to leave my books at home.
The area is excellent, a decent host is all that I know about the people who came to offer housing. I immediately forget their names and addresses: too many names and addresses. I do not check their documents. Perhaps this is done by volunteers who are responsible for placement ... Honestly, I do not want to even clarify this.
For the refugee, there was a high curly young man from the most prestigious area of Berlin. He said that he already lives one family from Ukraine, a mother with a boy 15 years old, that they have prepared Bortshch. The boy with the book introduced himself to the host in English: “Hello, my name is Nikita,” he called the name very, very quietly. The host held out his hand in an expensive leather glove, they greeted. It is nice to see the light in the eyes of people who make their way through the fog of uncertainty for three days.
*
They say that the growth of chaos is the property of closed systems. It seems that the volunteer camp is contrary to this statement. Volunteers turn collective ignorance into collective knowledge, structure work, improve the logistics and sectoriness of the perimeter. The camp has changed a lot over these three to four days. A great example to follow any robot or AI.
I am not a robot, I broke, yelled at my mother along the Nutsapa right at the station. Although I found a secluded corner, away from the camp, so as not to worry the immigrants. Trigger: I said that I gave an interview to some local newspaper. And my mother replied: “You don’t tell you anything really there ...” - and then I broke through!
Another facet of Russian shame, when my colleagues from Western Europe/East Asia, and German volunteers, and Ukrainian refugees unanimously accuse the fact that one of a particular person is what is happening, they say that the people are not to blame. And your loved ones, from whom you ask for protection and sympathy at a difficult moment, reply: “Yes, we support the president, we have a good president” ... And all the boulevage of the justifying ***** <The word is prohibited by the Russian authorities>.
The turn of the refugees to the tent with hot drinks and volunteers, the railway station in Berlin. Photo: EPA
March 7
We go to volunteering with my wife. Together we go to the station, put on our lighthouse vests with reflective stripes and self -cornable badge with the Ukrainian flag and the inscription "Rus/Eng" and dissolve in the general volunteer mass of the camp. Here and there, I see her wonderful hat <brand> m_u_r among the refugees: here she leads a hand of a grandmother’s hand, she advises the Skatera boy in Berlin, drags someone's bales on the platform, gently hugs the mild mothers and gives souvenirs to children, adds to the night for six people, and helps for six people, helps To navigate LGBNQ+ ( expanded version of the abbreviation of LGBT. - Ed. ) And People of Color (people of different ethnic origin). In general, all these pieces-such as digital activism, female, white privileges, post-traumatic stressful disorder and metromantism-I learned from it. But the most important thing is that in me in some incredible way she woke up a long-haired empathy and compassion for people.
***
Most refugees are women. Lonely women with children are easier to move than those who have husbands remained in Ukraine. Men are not released - there is a mandatory mobilization. Someone was lucky, and the husband was stuck on a business trip in Russia. He just needs to go around the “Russian world” through the Baltic countries with a Ukrainian passport and reunite with his family somewhere in West Germany. And someone has a husband ... "Our dad is fighting now, our dad is <...>." A woman with eyebrow tattooing and ideal manicure rode as part of a group - three mothers, three girls - the third day. Every time there was an opportunity to get in touch, she called her husband. How is it if you can kill your dear person every second? Every second. Every second ...
Unfortunately, due to the influx of immigrants in the evening, the SIM card ended. And this woman was left without communication until the next station, where, perhaps, Wi-Fi will be.
The group did not want to break and go to families - scary. If literally yesterday there were a legion, now there are only a few. Find a shelter at once for six people or at least look for them to live in the same area - the request is almost impossible. People do not fully understand what is happening to them and what situation they got into. They ask for placement on the villa or with a separate shower, or so that the host speak Russian, or that they are placed for two to three weeks until it all ends ... Sometimes it reminds me of Airbnb from the horror film, because you can only settled for the first one, only together and only for one night. In any other case, go to the campus for the cot! Now so far ...
But our group was lucky. A bus driver in a leather jacket, leather pants, in the Martins, with the remnants of lunch on the belly and glasses without an arc paid them two rooms in a nearby hotel. He is a member of the club of this hotel network and received two rooms with a large discount. The bus driver saved money for Paris and accumulated, just when all this rot began. Instead of Paris - "I really love Paris!" - He began to pay for hotel rooms for large families or alarming groups, such as ours. The crown’s test turned out to be negative for everyone. The children were delighted with the jumping Quin-Says of beds! In the morning they will wait for breakfast with the Swedish table. Incredible contrast after: "We sat for eight days with my daughter in the basement, I just ran out to feed the cat!" By the way, cats are not in my story, since, obviously, she did not reach.
***
I ran along the little things: this mommy children's mixtures without gluten, gluten-free bread and a banana, another-a ticket without a queue and look for children or things to help the platform, catch up with a departing train, share a Power-Bank, show where clothes are, where tea, where hygiene products are, tell me what next ... All women with children are asking for further. I don't know. I can only transfer you to the train, settle in one day in a family or send you to a hostel. What next, I do not know, no one knows, but "we will keep in touch." Runned twenty thousand steps.
***
My most sad case is grannies, one eighty -two years. I didn’t even resist, so she told her:
“You are such a good grandmother, just wonderful!”
- Yes? Yes, well, thanks. All my life I worked as a children's doctor, an orthopedic.
“This is yes, you work with your doctor, and they broke the leg yourself,” the grandmother had a fracture of the neck of the hips, we drove her in a stroller at a multi -level station with glass railing, she was very afraid of heights and held my hand with a wrinkled soft palm. - How did you manage so much?
- I broke, yes, fell, fell at home! They took me a picture in our large hospital, and in a day we left. I live in the Dnieper, in the very center. Is this Berlin? Are we in Berlin now?
Her daughter pretended that she was forty years old (I was almost forty years old, and she’s good for my mother, well, Okay). Holistic diva, in a red knitted hat with a rose. She was capricious, she did not know at all what she wanted. About the villa - it was specifically her request. She either tried to leave for Dusseldorf, then to Dresden, then return to the Czech Republic, then get to another station in Berlin, because there is warmer. I persuaded me to go with her to the next city and there to transfer them to some of my familiar volunteer, find her work, find out everything about the manual ... Such a braking of a creature who really needs to survive. Her panic and absent -mindedness are difficult to describe in words. I would say that she is a little ****** amid stress. Why would I say that way, because I stayed in the camp for 10 hours, and there was simply no strength left for sympathy. I threw this grandmother and daughter to someone from the night shift, gave them my number and said that everything would be fine ...
“Let's go home, it seems that I had a battery of empathy,” my wife with red, wet and very beautiful eyes told me.
We got into the tram, discussed our “cases” - so we distantly call people with heavy fate, almost drove our stop. At home we were waiting for a neighboring cat who came to us to eat and sleep. "Empathy battery!" - said Vika. Soon the eighth of March, give her the perfume of Comme des Garçons.
Clowns-volunteers in the children's section of the headquarters for Ukrainian refugees, Berlin. Photo: Hannibal Hanschke / Getty images
March 10
It's time to get used to a <word prohibited by censorship>. We pack the refugees with packs on buses. Perevlians go to campuses. There are extremely few personal stories, everything comes down to logistics: delivery of people to temporary stay points. The authorities take an active part: they defeated the tent-center “Welcome to Berlin”, highlighted the station in the colors of the Ukrainian flag.
He was on duty at the very streaming point. I missed hundreds of immigrants through himself: they pour out from above, from the platform, where about five hundred and seven hundred people come every hour: “You will go down, left and again to the left, there will be our volunteer camp.” Научился вычислять беженцев по глазам. «Вам вниз, налево и еще раз налево». Во-первых, у них глаза светлые: голубые, серые, зеленые и даже карие, но все равно светлые. «Вам вниз, налево и еще раз налево, там возьмите бесплатную симку». Во-вторых, чаще всего влажные от четырехдневной усталости и четырехдневных слез. «Вам вниз, налево и еще раз налево, возьмите бесплатный билет по Германии». В-третьих, глазами они как будто ищут ответ… «Вниз, налево и еще раз налево, так, все кому нужны билеты, вам вниз, налево и еще раз налево, до конца!» И вовсе не на вопрос, куда им дальше идти. «Вам вниз, налево и еще раз налево. Если в Париж, то направо». Они смотрят на меня так, будто хотят, чтобы я им сказал: «Вам наверх, обратно на перрон и на поезд. Все закончилось, можно ехать домой».
За плечами у беженцев остались (если остались) их города, крупные мегаполисы. С самым разнообразным составом населения: дизайнеры там, архитекторы, работники IT-индустрии. В общем, нормальные такие города, в том числе с детскими домами, хосписами, приютами для бездомных людей и животных… С одинокими стариками, с недееспособными, с нейроотличными, которые и без войны переживают ад у себя голове. Слепыми, которые не видят взрывов, и глухими, которые не слышат сирен. Я встречаю таких людей на вокзале, их очень мало. Их сопровождают, им помогают… «Пожалуйста, воспользуйтесь лифтом, потом сразу налево. Каталку вам даст Красный Крест». Но все-таки их единицы. Невидимые люди в большинстве своем остаются невидимыми.
Могу категоризировать беженцев. Из всего спектра есть две любопытные, крайние группы: «Мы не совсем беженцы» и «Как нам вернуться обратно, во Львов?» Первые — не могут допустить мысль о том, что они «беженцы»: вот эти вот из телевизора, грязные, с поклажами и на ослах. Вторые — не знают, не понимают, не могут добраться до элементарной информации… Им здесь, на этом блестящем шокирующем вокзале, страшнее, чем дома, там, где <…>.
11 марта
Один из контактов в моем телеграме поменял аватарку на георгиевскую «Зедку» с хэштегом #СвоихНеБросаем. Было очень неловко, когда искал беженцам ссылку на группу помощи в Берлине. Надеюсь, они не заметили, я очень быстро проскролил. Контакту, а это заведующая поликлиникой, я отправил скриншот новости о полуторагодовалом погибшем ребенке и удалил переписку.
***
На вокзале то тут, то там лужи рвоты: людей тошнит от стресса — так мне сообщили в Красном Кресте. Я пытался взять у них лекарства от интоксикации для годовалой девочки. Мне сказали, что таких случаев очень много. И с вероятностью 95% это — «всего лишь реакция на стресс. Им нужно, хотя я понимаю, что это почти невозможно, найти безопасное, спокойное место и оставаться там полчаса, подышать, успокоиться». Видел, как на эскалаторе обгадился боксер-беженец. В смысле — собака. Судя по морде, тоже от стресса.
***
Спустя несколько дней работы могу сам брифовать людей, подсказывать новеньким лайфхаки. Хорошо, что приходят новые люди. По себе замечаю, как я потихоньку выгораю. Начинаю избегать сложных кейсов. Перекинул на другого волонтера одинокую мамочку с тремя малолетками. Женщина потеряла на вокзале сына лет тринадцати в белом капюшоне. Пока отвечал на блиц-вопросы других переселенцев, пропала и мамочка. Я честно пошел их обеих искать, но вместо них нашел Ивана.
Иван поздоровался, спросил, как меня зовут, и представился сам. У Ивана была жилетка, как у меня, с украинским флагом, прилепленым на скотч — он тоже волонтер. Белая медицинская маска (которые все еще обязательны в Германии) наполовину прикрывала его красное, буро-красное лицо, с размытыми глазами.
— Стас, слушай, можно у вас взять телефон позвонить по вотцапу?
— Да, конечно, — ответил я. — Только я не знаю, как по вотцапу звонить.
— Тут все просто, нужно добавить контакт. — Иван добавил мне новый номер, назвал собеседника 123. — Только это займет какое-то время, минут пять…
Иван ревел в трубку моего телефона примерно полчаса. Я стоял рядом и ждал, когда мне вернут мой телефон. Иван то морщил лицо в одну точку, становясь еще бордовее, то запрокидывал голову и набирал полный рот воздуха, спустив маску до подбородка. Честно говоря, я опасался, что он в сердцах, на эмоциях швырнет мой телефон об пол или скинет вниз на перрон. В день, когда началась <…>, я обнаружил царапину на экране своего новенького смартфона — это правда. Кредит за него мне еще нужно выплачивать пару месяцев.
Иван договорил и отдал мне трубку.
— У тебя что-то случилось, я могу тебе как-то помочь? I asked.
— Нет, Стас, спасибо, не можешь.
— Ну смотри сам, если что, ты скажи, хорошо?
— Нет, Стас, нет, ничего… — он замялся, — а ты откуда сам, Стас?
— Я из Санкт-Петербурга.
— Да, хорошо, нет, ничего.
— А ты откуда? — спросил я, чтобы поддержать его в контакте, что, может, он все-таки расскажет, что стряслось.
— А я, как там по-вашему, я бендеровец, я с западной Украины. Нет, не нужно ничего… Скажи только, как доехать… — он назвал станцию, сам нашел ее у меня в телефоне и просто ушел.
Не знаю, короче, я написал по вотцапу контакту, которому он звонил, 123. На фотографии светлая девушка с выразительным носом.
— Здравствуйте, меня зовут Стас. Я волонтер на вокзале. Ваш знакомый звонил с моего телефона.
— Хорошо, спасибо, — сразу ответила 123.
— У вас что-то случилось? Он выглядел очень расстроенным. Вам нужна какая-то помощь?
- Thank you. Where are you from?
— Из Берлина, — соврал я.
— Понятно, — долгая-долгая пауза.
— У вас есть мой номер, если что обращайтесь, — и приободряющий эмодзи.
— Если вы с России, я, к сожалению, не хочу к вам обращаться, — первый раз мне прилетело. Таких разов будет еще много. Но это прям первый. Я сказал, что осуждаю, что сожалею, что надеюсь, это скоро закончится. — Сегодня разбомбили мое село! Понимаете, село! Там ничего нет. Там только люди! Мои родители там, и я не знаю, что мне делать. Ни света, ни газа, ни связи, ни воды.
Девушка писала из Украины, под обстрелами. Она боялась уехать, оставить родителей и семью брата, которого не выпускают из страны. А без него жена с ребенком не хотят ехать. Они связывались с юристами в Германии, но без толку. Я посоветовал им просто брать паспорта, минимум вещей и ехать. Сказал, что напишу еще, когда закончится смена.
Дома я отправил несколько сообщений со словами поддержки, советами, контактами, описал обстановку в Берлине… но ни одно из них не было прочитано. Я на секунду подумал, что, возможно, я пытаюсь общаться с уже мертвым человеком.
March 15
Киберволонтерство — мой вечерний ритуал. Рассылаю свежую информацию по контактам-переселенцам. Спрашиваю, как дела у тех, кого отправил жить в частный сектор, чтобы знать наверняка, что отправил их не в рабство. Интересуюсь, кто как разместился на кампусах, присылают видосы, условия норм. Кто-то все еще в дороге, кто-то не определился с планами, кто-то мечется по Европе: едут в Милан, в Париж, в Швейцарию, в Португалию, на юг Италии… Список самых востребованных туристических направлений, если бы был мир. Мужчина, механик скутеров «Веспа», прислал сообщение, что благополучно устроился в Австрии. Он, жена и голубоглазая хаски нашли любезную женщину, которая предоставила им свой загородный домик с крытым бассейном. На фото перевозбужденный пес бегает по ровным зеленым лужайкам. Мужчина пишет: если ему починят ноги (отстранен от мобилизации из-за переломов), поедет обратно!
Пришлось ему сказать, что я сам — русский, но понимаю его негодование. Он прислал мне фотографии своего родного района под Киевом, на фотографиях — зола и руины.
Дальше долго говорили.