Russia’s Penchant for Rewriting History Alive and Well
Source: The Globe and Mail
02/20/2006
BLAGOVESHCHENSK, RUSSIA — The four days of terror in Blagoveshchensk
should have been unforgettable. A small army of police and
special-forces soldiers swept through this central Russian town from Dec. 10 to Dec.
14, 2004, arresting and beating hundreds of people.
One man remembers standing with his head against a wall for four hours
in the stinking basement of a police station, listening to the screams
of his fellow captives. Another recalls getting punched by a masked
soldier, and waking up in the intensive-care unit of a hospital.
But memory is a fickle thing, especially in today’s Russia. Little more
than a year after one of this country’s most infamous examples of
police brutality - an incident with thousands of witnesses that engulfed an
entire town of 30,000 - many are trying to forget, conceal, or
reinterpret what happened.
Stepping carefully down the icy main road in shiny formal shoes, a
prosperous citizen of Blagoveshchensk was unequivocal when asked his
opinion about the mass arrests.
“The police behaved properly,” he said. “Sometimes the only way to
solve problems is to beat people.”
The Soviet Union made a habit of erasing history, and in some respects
Russia is falling back into old ways. Nowadays it’s more difficult to
delete facts, but the aftermath of the Blagoveshchensk incident shows
how an array of pressure tactics - threats, bribes, firings, lawsuits,
intimidation and the influence of state-controlled media - can affect the
way an event is remembered.
According to witnesses, the violence started on Dec. 8, 2004, with a
scuffle between police officers and a few businessmen who opposed the
local mayor. Two days later, apparently in reaction to the challenge of
authority, trucks with the word police written on their windshields drove
into town and stopped along the central avenue.
Armed soldiers, later identified as Interior Ministry troops, bundled
out of the trucks wearing camouflage and ski masks.
Alexey Raschoskov, 30, unemployed at the time, was walking home after
babysitting his nephew when he encountered the masked men. They didn’t
say anything to him, just hit him in the stomach. He fainted from the
pain.
The soldiers started violently arresting men and boys around town,
pulling them from taxis, discos, homes and street corners. Alexander
Kulakov, 25, a metalworker, was among about 30 people sitting at a café who
were herded onto trucks.
“I asked, ‘What’s happening? Why are you wearing masks?’ ” Mr. Kulakov
said. His questions were answered with a shove and a beating, leaving
him with baton marks on his back, hips, and shins.
The prisoners were taken to the basement of the local police station
and lined up facing the walls. Mr. Kulakov stood shoulder to shoulder
with dozens of others for four hours on the concrete floor. Guards struck
anybody who moved, and the room grew steamy from the heat of people
sweating in their winter clothes.
Mr. Kulakov heard some of the prisoners threatening to file an official
complaint, then listened as they were taken away to adjacent cells, hit
repeatedly, and forced to shout: “We love the police!”
The captives were eventually released, one by one, after submitting to
fingerprinting and document checks. Some walked home, 20 kilometres on
a winter night.
Three local and regional officials declined to comment on the incident,
and it’s not known how many people were caught up in the sweep.
Human-rights advocates estimate more than 1,000 people passed through the
police station’s basement over four days. About 200 people filed complaints
with the prosecutor’s office, but many have since withdrawn their
statements after local officials went door to door to discourage
complainers.
After Mr. Raschoskov returned home from hospital, still recovering from
a ruptured bladder and other injuries, he heard a knock at the door.
Men wearing suits, who didn’t introduce themselves, told him they would
arrange to buy him a new condominium, or give him money for a train
trip, if he would withdraw his complaint.
Mr. Kulakov was fired from his job at a metalworks factory soon after
he complained. “People are trying to forget about the incident because
they’re scared,” he said.
The only reason the former metalworker feels free to discuss the events
now is because he found work as a clerk for a national mobile-phone
retailer, which, he hopes, is beyond the influence of local politics.
Pressure was felt even more acutely by people who tried to publicize
the incident. Veronika Shakhova was editor-in-chief of the town
newspaper, Zerkala, or Mirror, and tried repeatedly to get comments from local
officials.
“They said, ‘If you insist that this incident really happened, we will
detain you,’ ” Ms. Shakhova said.
She published the story anyway, giving it nearly the whole front page.
A television presenter for a state-controlled channel responded by
holding up the newspaper on camera and telling the audience that the event
never happened. The leadership of the region’s Interior Ministry
special troops filed a libel suit against the newspaper. Ms. Shakhova was
fired.
The editor has since founded her own paper, Zerkala Plus, and
human-rights advocates say they still hold some hope that the officials
responsible for the sweep will be prosecuted. Two officers have been given
three-month conditional sentences, and eight more face charges.
In the meantime, human-rights activists have discovered that defending
the rights of people in Blagoveshchensk also involves defending
themselves. Ildar Isangulov, head of a regional branch of For Human Rights,
Russia’s largest human-rights organization, visited the town in December
to mark the one-year anniversary of the incident. He was shouted down
at a public meeting by hecklers who repeated a wild rumour that
foreigners caused the town’s trouble by trying to organize a revolution.
As Mr. Isangulov left the meeting, somebody dumped a two-litre tub of
mayonnaise over his head, ruining his suit and suede coat.
Footage of the mayonnaise ambush aired on Channel One, Russia’s largest
state-owned television network. The correspondent concluded that
relations between police and the people of Blagoveshchensk are now “fine.”
