I probably wouldn't have been able to write anything about it, but in the afternoon, I came across the right line somewhere in the comments section: don't let everybody forget that the war is still going on. Mariupol has been living in a blockade for a week, without electricity or heating. Today is March 11. According to weather forecasts, there will be 7 below zero at night there (19,4 F), and in Kharkiv, 18 below zero (–0,4 F). People are heating the snow there, warming themselves by the fires, and diesel fuel is worth its weight in gold. In this context, it is ridiculous and indecent to write about one’s emotional torments, despite the “anthropological value of personal testimonies” and all that jazz. Since February 24, all of our words have lost their meaning (as well as pretty much everything we were doing before). The Internet is over, reality has set in, and we are not ready for it. We are few in number, apart, and incapable of common action; there is no organization, no plan, nothing. This is not to say that we were unaware. We all saw the darkness creeping in, made apocalyptic jokes about it, and planned (or dreamed) of getting out in time. “The situation is hopeless, but not serious.” Probably everyone thought that we were the only ones who would fall into the Russian abyss; well, we felt no pity for ourselves as we gave up on ourselves a long time ago. But that is not the way it turned out. Today people everywhere are advising us to turn away from gloomy thoughts, to “give ourselves positive emotions” and so on, but this is self-deception. There is no comfort, and it is not the time. For our carelessness and infantile optimism, other people pay the price, and we will have to answer not to ourselves, but to them. And it is unlikely they will forgive us.
March 14, 2022 Translated by Sasha Moroz