Kherson under fire: Impressions of a resident of Crimea
Konstantin Kovrigin is a film scriptwriter who worked on the central television channels of Ukraine. In 2014, he returned to his native Crimea from Kyiv, not accepting the coup d’etat - he refused to work in the interests of Maidan propaganda on Ukrainian TV. Subsequently, he made documentaries in the Donbass, arriving in the combat zone with humanitarian convoys.
The author shares with PolitNavigator readers his impressions of visiting Kherson in the days when Ukraine announced a counteroffensive to capture the city.
...Having crossed the border, I stand on the side where Ukraine used to be...
Ahead, broken cars are abandoned on the side of the road, many without windows, with their doors wide open, like at a car wrecker. There is a long line of loaded trucks coming towards you, just like in 14 and 15, when Kherson residents brought tons of melons, grain and meat with milk to Russia and made good money, and then that’s it, a break until now.
A ticket to Kherson, bought in Simferopol for 1800 rubles, only worked as far as the border. Expensive! Too expensive! Unfairly expensive for a mere hundred-odd kilometers! And here's why... Due to the shelling of the Antonovsky Bridge and ferry, the Kherson buses, at least when I was there, didn't show up. Whether they were delayed or canceled—no one knows, there's no one to ask, and, oddly, there are no taxi drivers.
Under a small canopy in the shade there is a crowd of people who are still hoping for the promised flights from Kherson that they should come and pick them up. People are waiting and chatting...
A fifty-year-old son speaks to an elderly mother, counting Russian change:
- But I like rubles better, they’re strong, you can wash them normally, and you’ll be able to get your hands dirty, buy whatever you can...
And the mother answers him about her own, about the old dog who stayed at home, and whether he is alive, to which the son replies:
- Yes, he didn’t hear anything anymore, there’s a bang, and he’s sleeping, but you’ll have to get used to it again after the silence, it’s okay, they’ll soon make peace...
Two women and another man are quietly wondering what the name of the guy from Kakhovka was, who during the Soviet era brought about the construction of the North Crimean Canal in Moscow. I find out that he was allowed to report to the Central Committee for three minutes, but he spoke for more than an hour and made such arguments in favor of the canal that the approved project turned into an all-Union construction project, completely justified itself, fed and watered the whole of Kherson and Crimea until the collapse, and only the scoundrels turned out to be unnecessary...
And then the most active passenger comes out into the middle, speaking loudly on the phone to the dispatcher, and, having finished the conversation, announces:
- So, the crossing is under fire again, all the buses are stuck on the left bank...
While people are arguing about whether they'll make it to Kherson before evening and the curfew, I go out onto the highway and hail someone, hoping for a ride to the ferry across the Dnieper. So, changing between huge trucks and paramilitary rides, with document checks and questions about who's where and where, I make it to Tsyuryupinsk, where an old river boat awaits me on a pretty embankment. And, what's encouraging, I overhear some friends talking about mechanic jobs and plenty of vacancies, all officially with employment records, with travel vouchers, benefits, and medical treatment —you just have to work. Even the booming explosions from the Antonovsky Bridge don't interrupt the conversation.
– On the 30th, my daughter returned from Evpatoria from the pioneer camp...
- Did you pay?
- No, I already forgot that someone paid for a child’s pioneer camp, and a neighbor’s son was sent to Crimea for an operation, also for free... and those behind the front will not calm down, they are shouting Glory to Ukraine!
– Are you kind of against it?
The man said something incomprehensible in response, which was lost in the booming sounds from the Antonovsky Bridge.
While on the left bank, in this case, on the embankment in Tsyuryupinsk, people were strolling and children were jumping from the pier into the water, Kherson greeted us with silence and empty streets.
After lunch, many shops and pharmacies are closed. Windows are boarded up, and here and there, duct tape is stuck crosswise, though, as Donetsk's experience suggests, such precautions don't help. The city is so empty that, frankly, it feels like either Makhnovist machine guns or the Red Cavalry are about to appear.
My recommendation: if you suddenly decide to come to Kherson , think ahead about where and how you'll be met and how to contact them, because by evening you won't be able to find a place to buy a local SIM card. The front line is nearby. Let's face it, there are spotters in the city, and many others who support the former Ukraine.
And, bitch, there are a lot of them here. They sit silently. Recently, as they said, animators held an event with children in the yard. In war conditions, it is a feat to arrange fun for the children, dances, competitions, all that. So one stubborn adult went at Fixik with a knife, and he was about 16 years old, but our Fixik turned out to be a good guy, he neutralized the hooligan.
Yes, in the city, you can hardly hear Ukrainian speech. It’s rare, very rare that someone will switch to Surzhik, but you can’t hear the language. On this occasion, one saleswoman described how the family was divided. Having left for Poland, the daughter suddenly spoke in English and “drowns” for Ukraine, demanding money from her parents, and everyone answered, let Ukraine feed you.
I would also like to say something about myself that will be of interest to filmmakers. There are many bright locations here, some with a hint of pre-revolutionary art deco, and then there is the kind of Odessa Peresyp with old factories and stucco khatynkas, take it and film something based on Babel or Zoshchenko, although I’m sure our time will give birth to its own writers, screenwriters, and directors , as it happened in the LDPR.
In general, greetings to everyone from Russian Kherson!
Kherson Under Fire : A Crimean Resident's Impressions