Kitabı oku: «Betrayal of Truth», sayfa 4

Vlad's tone took a turn of historical reflection, a glimpse into the roots of the conflict. "The land absorbed souls from across the Soviet Union, their labor cementing the region's industry. But with the passage of time, as Ukraine grew, so did the artificially cultivated nationalism. A thorny vine that encroached upon the identity we'd nurtured for decades."

His historical insight unraveled the complex tapestry of a nation's evolution. "The Russian language became the battleground of politics. Presidential elections echoed with politicians leveraging linguistic divides for votes, swinging the pendulum between Russian and Ukrainian advantages. The cunning shifted sides – using the language to sway voters depending on the region, playing the centuries-old game of territorial identity."

"Presidential elections continued, and Petro Poroshenko rose to power. A man who spoke of political solutions, but the tide had already changed. The wheels of conflict churned, and the battlefield's darkness cast a shadow over reason. Poroshenko's promises were cast aside, and the tempest raged on."

As his narrative surged forward, Vlad's voice grew more resolute, determined to shape the truth. "So, there you have it. A story woven with threads of betrayal, resilience, and the dance between power and identity. A history marked by the blood and sweat of a nation, a tale that defies easy answers and lays bare the complexity of human conflict."

Then he said with a little laugh of the irony, "Picture this – Poroshenko, the man who championed peaceful resolution, stood before the military in Odessa. With brazen audacity, he declared that while Ukrainian children would enjoy their classrooms, Donbass children would cower in basements, besieged by conflict. A video surfaced, showing a grim prediction turned into chilling reality. This was Ukraine, this was Donbass – a stark contrast etched in the fabric of time."

Then he said with a mixture of disbelief and determination., "As the pages of history turned, the stage was set for negotiations. Poroshenko, armed with promises, marched into elections. He promised peace, unity, and a new dawn. But what unfolded was a different tale altogether. Consultations between Poroshenko and Putin spawned a protocol – inked on September 5th – a glimmer of hope that the war's ferocity might wane."

His words carried a hint of skepticism, echoing the doubts that lingered in the air. "Reality, my friend, played a different tune. September 16th saw the Verkhovna Rada pass two laws, laws they should've held sacred. One, the law granting special status, I debated this law in Minsk, hoping for progress. The other, meant to shield protestors from prosecution. Yet, as the world watched, one law disappeared into the abyss, shelved and forgotten."

Vlad's voice held an air of frustration as he continued his narrative. "The special status law reached Poroshenko's desk, awaiting his signature. It sat there, waiting for his approval, or a veto, or some change. But it sat untouched, while the sands of time slipped through the hourglass. The law was crystal clear – elections were to be held in our territories, ushering local representatives into power. December 7th was the appointed day."

A note of exasperation seeped into his tone. "But October wore on, and nothing happened. Mid-October, an international summit provided the stage. Poroshenko, the showman, paraded the law before the world. With a flourish, he signed it, a declaration of his commitment to peace. The act was done, the world watched, but it was all a charade. October 17th saw the law published, September 18th marked its activation."

I could hear the annoyance and irony in his voice. "Ukrainian legislation, for all its intricate clauses, couldn't answer the question: what happens when they violate their own rule? Poroshenko toyed with their own laws, defying them at will. December 16th, the clock struck – a self-imposed deadline they failed to meet. The elections, the very cornerstone of their democracy, lay in shambles."

His narrative pivoted, tracing the intricacies of legitimacy amidst chaos. "Meanwhile, Donbass stood resilient, its People's Council formed on the squares, amidst the chaos of the times. The legitimacy of their actions wasn't lost on them. As Poroshenko dithered, they saw through the charade. Power had to rest on the shoulders of the people, even amidst adversity."

Vlad's voice held a note of defiance as he detailed the steps they took. "They cast a vision of unity, a call to democracy. In November, they slated elections – to elect not just a head, but the voice of their people. The head, until then, stood appointed, but the people demanded their choice be written in ballots."

His narrative hung in the air like a dare, a challenge flung at the heart of adversity. "The story pressed on, a tapestry woven with resilience and defiance, where promises were broken and heroes emerged from the chaos. And through it all, one truth stood firm – the fate of Donbass would be determined by those who dared to stand against the storm."

"September 11th marked a turning point as we held new elections for the People's Council and the head of the republic. Our commitment to democratic standards remained unwavering, and we extended invitations to international observers. But as the chessboard of diplomacy unfolded, not all accepted. We called on the OSCE ODIHR and reached out to nations across the globe, aiming for a more credible legitimacy."

He continued, "Yet, in the face of Ukraine's objections, Europe took a pro-Ukrainian stance, casting shadows over our efforts. We fought to overcome this storm of accusations, explaining how the constraints of Ukrainian law made these elections a paradox."

With a blend of frustration and resolve, he said, "The autumn of 2014 saw a dwindling of contact group meetings. The Normandy Four and the OSCE tried to inject life into the negotiations, but it was only in November that a permanent representative from our side, me, stepped into the contact group. A fresh wave of determination surged through us."

Vlad's sounded of a mix of urgency and focus. "And so we entered December, a time marked by ongoing attempts to stabilize the situation. The Joint Center for Control and Coordination emerged as a beacon of hope, a platform to discuss strategies for ceasefire, de-escalation, and weapons withdrawal. In the fog of negotiations, we even crafted an agreement for the withdrawal of heavy weaponry. General Tumansky of the Ukrainian side signed it, only to be later accused of intoxication and his signature questioned."

His voice tinged with a hint of bitterness, Vlad recounted their struggles. "Undeterred, we pressed on, working tirelessly to restore energy supply and ensure the continuity of essential services. The healthcare system, in particular, kept functioning despite the adversities."

Vlad's words picked up pace as he reached a pivotal moment. "In December, amid negotiations with Ukraine, a new player, General Razmaznya, entered the scene. We finally perceived a glimmer of hope – signs that Ukraine was ready to sign the agreement again, to recommence the journey towards peace."

The underlying determination in his tone was palpable. "It was a dance between hope and skepticism, as we navigated the complexities of diplomacy. Yet, we were determined to bring stability to the region, even as the winds of uncertainty continued to blow."

Vlad's narrative was a testament to resilience amidst adversity, to the relentless pursuit of peace against all odds. "Through the trials and tribulations, through the twists and turns of negotiations, we stood firm, driven by a shared purpose – to forge a path towards lasting peace in a land that had seen enough turmoil."

"But the heart of the matter was the requirement for three days of silence as part of the agreement. This condition was pivotal, just like a king in a chess game. So there I was, sitting across from General Dymovsky on a tense January 30th evening, as the clock struck 6. Slavyansk had managed four days of silence, and with the agreement signed, the delicate path to weapon withdrawal would have been paved. It was like holding the key to a treasure chest, just waiting for the turn of a lock. General Dymovsky seemed amenable; we were ready to take that leap. All that remained was his final approval, and the stage was set."

Vlad spoke with a note of anticipation, mirroring the ticking clock of negotiations. "But alas, at 8 PM, Ukraine had other plans. They sabotaged the power supply line that connected us to Russia. In an instant, darkness fell over 80 % of our land, the frigid cold biting at us. The mercury dipped to 25 degrees below, and in the silence of the night, the power grid's pumping units fell silent. Without electricity, our centralized heating system ground to a halt, leaving us teetering on the edge of catastrophe."

His voice turned somber as he recounted the battle against the elements. "As New Year's Eve dawned, our utilities worked tirelessly to save the heating system from freezing over, a race against time in the face of daunting odds. Amid the frigid battle, we managed to restore power to critical facilities, breathing life back into the heat supply system, just hours before the clock struck midnight. It was a close call, but we had triumphed."

Vlad's narrative took a turn, resuming the thread of diplomatic efforts. "As the calendar flipped to January, the tension intensified. Ukraine's military maneuvers surged, artillery barrages echoed, and the bridge in Luganskaya faced a perilous threat. Amidst the cacophony of conflict, Debaltseve loomed large on the horizon, a coveted railway junction that held the key to our industrial lifeline."

He spoke with the urgency of a countdown. "January saw our efforts to seize Debaltseve, a crucial battleground for control. The industrial and economic implications were colossal, hinging on this crucial railway artery. But amid the artillery volleys and maneuvering troops, one glimmer of hope emerged – negotiations. In a twist of fate, a meeting was arranged in Minsk on February 11th, gathering the contact group and the Normandy Four, including Germany, France, Russia, and Ukraine."

Vlad's words were tinged with irony. "Enter Frau Merkel, the voice of Europe. Her presence in Minsk was expected to mark a step forward. But diplomacy is a labyrinth, a dance of nuanced decisions. When she learned I would be there, she refused to share the same building with 'terrorists,' referring to myself and Pushilin. Thus, the meetings were hastily shifted to a different venue, the Service Hall in Minsk – a symphony of diplomatic red tape."

As he delved deeper into the narrative, Vlad's tone grew more charged. "And so, on that day in February, the eyes of the world were on us. The contact group discussions were underway, and simultaneously, the Normandy Four convened at the President Hotel. While the grand leaders deliberated in the elegant halls, I and Pushilin sat poised, armed with a document that bore the hopes of many."

With an air of expectancy, Vlad narrated the climax of the negotiations. "As the discussions reached their zenith, the four nations attempted to weave a tapestry of peace. We were ready to sign, but Ukraine had an unexpected stipulation. They demanded that the document acknowledge their control over Debaltseve, a sticking point that was non-negotiable for them. It was a bold move, one that could reshape the course of events."

He sounded resolute, a testament to the persistence of diplomacy. "Our journey towards peace was both a tactical chess match and a high-stakes gamble. In the smoke-filled rooms of diplomacy, we had to balance the aspirations of a nation against the stark realities of geopolitics. As the world waited for our move, we navigated the maze of negotiations, holding onto the hope that this time, peace could prevail."

"On the flip side of the divide, a mere 200 meters away, lay the territory controlled by the Donetsk People's Republic. To demonstrate our commitment to finding a resolution, we granted Ukraine permission to use a nearby road for military rotation. The caveat was clear – no weapons allowed. We laid down the terms: they could replenish supplies, evacuate the wounded, and shuffle their troops, all with one goal – to orchestrate a safe departure from Debaltseve. The idea was simple – avoid unnecessary bloodshed and pave a way for a more graceful exit."

Vlad now had a more intense timbre in his message, mirroring the gravity of the situation. "In the shadows of diplomacy, the scene took a surreal turn. I was later briefed by journalists who were at the heart of the matter, present where the Normandy Four gathered. Word got around that Poroshenko abruptly left the meeting room, only to make a series of phone calls. The message was stark – 'Open fire from all available weapons, whether it makes sense or not.' His intent was crystal clear – to divert our focus, to stretch our forces thin, to create an opening for a breakthrough, a gamble to seize the narrative."

A pause lingered in the air, pregnant with the tension of those moments. "And so, under a barrage of increasing military pressure, the clock struck eight in the morning, and Poroshenko's stance began to shift. In the hushed hours between 6 and 8, fierce discussions played out, like a high-stakes poker game where lives were the ultimate currency. As dawn broke, a subdued but palpable euphoria pervaded the room. Poroshenko relented – Ukraine would sign the document, sealing a pivotal pact. It was as if the weight of the world shifted upon those reluctant shoulders."

Vlad's words flowed like a torrent, each one carrying the weight of the events. "The labyrinthine negotiations had taken their toll. A new day dawned, and as the ink dried, word reached us from the Normandy summit – there was consensus. The concept of the comprehensive package of measures, that elusive peace blueprint, had received a green light. With a sense of urgency, we began the final phase of this diplomatic odyssey."

Like a conductor's baton, Vlad set the pace of his narrative. "However, time was short. The date in the prepared document had missed its mark, slipping away in discussions that seemed endless. February 11 was intended as the starting point for the ceasefire, but due to the protracted debates, it was now history. A day of tension and talking, but nothing on the paper to mark it. So, with a quick adjustment, we set a new date – the only date – and the comprehensive package of measures was inked."

Vlad seemed to echo through the corridors of history. "A rare moment in the annals of international relations, the heads of states had convened for a marathon meeting that stretched for a monumental sixteen hours. A singular juncture where diplomacy demanded endurance, where the clock turned but the resolve endured. A prolonged pause provided a much-needed intermission, and finally, a consensus was reached. Ukraine had begrudgingly accepted the undeniable truth – the sands of power had shifted."

The narrative reached its crescendo, and Vlad's words carried the weight of victory. "The ink had barely dried when the real work began. In the aftermath of the signed accord, a few days later, we executed the Chernukhino-Debaltsevo operation, taking control of the coveted railway hub. The military maneuver solidified our stance and etched a turning point in the history of the conflict. Amid the ruins of battle, a glimmer of hope emerged – a comprehensive set of measures signed, sealing the first steps towards a truce."

Vlad's tone carried a mixture of grim pragmatism and a sense of history's weight. "The aftermath of the Chernukhino-Debaltsevo operation saw Ukraine licking its wounds. They had sustained substantial casualties, yet, ironically, they also found themselves in possession of a considerable cache of Western weapons. M-16s, Glock pistols – a bounty that spoke volumes about the international dynamics at play."

He paused, his voice heavy with implication. "As the calendar pages flipped through November and December, Ukraine's stance grew increasingly unyielding. Dialogue with the southeast felt like talking to a brick wall – a resounding rejection echoing through each videoconference. The air was thick with slogans, but the substance was sorely lacking. It was becoming clear that this composition of negotiators, coupled with the agendas in the shadows, left little room for constructive discourse."

Vlad's words echoed through the corridors of diplomatic theatrics. "The Normandy Four, once a beacon of hope, now had their own challenges. Angela Merkel's advisor, the linchpin of their technical efforts, was no more. The Chancellor herself had exited the political stage, leaving Germany with a diminished understanding of the inner workings of the Normandy process. France, too, had its own hurdles. Macron, preoccupied with other matters, was not giving the Normandy Four its due."

A sigh seemed to punctuate his words. "It's a classic case of political priorities diverting focus. The once-vital process had devolved into declarations and hollow exchanges, devoid of practical content. And without external motivation, Ukraine's negotiating prowess evaporated. It was akin to negotiating with a phantom, where even the semblance of progress was elusive."

The narrative gathered momentum as Vlad recounted the final disintegration. "At the close of last year and into the beginning of this year, Ukraine's theatrics reached new heights. Empty meetings, devoid of substance, were proposed – a smokescreen to convey a sense of activity. But we were not to be fooled by such artifice."

He turned somber as he painted the picture of impending conflict. "In late December, Ukraine signaled a heightened military offensive. The movement of troops and equipment painted a vivid image of their intentions. The ominous drumbeat began on February 17, shelling reverberating across the frontline – a precursor to the storm that loomed on the horizon."

Vlad's voice lowered, each word carefully chosen. "And in the aftermath, in the documents we uncovered while liberating Ukrainian-held cities, lay the stark truth. Their designs to invade our territory, to wrest control through military might, were laid bare. Dates in late February and early March danced across those papers, a chilling testament to the brink upon which we teetered."

The air seemed to hang heavy as Vlad recounted a narrow escape. "But fate and strategic foresight intervened. Russia's guiding hand helped thwart the escalation, preventing a disaster that could have had catastrophic consequences. The balance of power teetered on a razor's edge, and thanks to those vigilant, the darkness was kept at bay."

"The next phase brought forth the presidential elections, masked with Constitutional amendments – an illegal maneuver that dealt a grave blow to the very foundations of democracy," Vlad's voice brimmed with a tinge of bitterness. "It's in this period that the threads of influence from outside became more pronounced. Joint Ukrainian-NATO exercises painted the landscape, setting the stage for strategic alignments. South Ukraine, meanwhile, turned into a hub for an emerging American military presence, a chapter reminiscent of the past."

Vlad's tone held an air of careful analysis. "But let's not forget that this isn't just a modern saga – it's a tale with roots that stretch deep into history. The architects of the anti-Russian narrative harbored a clear agenda from the outset: sow discord between the Slavic brethren and watch as they tear each other apart. It's a dark undercurrent that seeped into every layer of their strategy."

A pause followed, laden with significance. "And this isn't just about 'independence' – it's about survival, about life and death. The horrifying echoes of Odessa, where Ukrainian nationalists committed unspeakable acts, vividly illustrated their intentions. What unfolded in our lands mirrored those intentions – a testament to the calculated depths of their motives."

His voice hardened, a reflection of the stark realities. "Recall the times when Ukrainian units nearly surrounded Lugansk, infiltrating villages and wreaking havoc. Atrocities were unleashed upon innocent civilians, a terrorizing spectacle meant to break the spirit of the populace. Amidst this chaos, they pleaded with the Ukrainian command to halt the madness. But their pleas fell on deaf ears."

His words held an edge, portraying a struggle for humanity. "The narrative took a sinister turn as they herded the local population into a church – a sanctuary turned into a minefield, a chilling symbol of disregard for human life. It was a grim ploy to use their own as a shield, to instill fear even within their places of worship. The church was wired, and the ominous threat of detonation hung over their heads – a tactic intended to hold Putin and his resolve hostage."

He picked up pace, the tension palpable. "It was a hair's breadth, a mere twist of fate that halted their wicked plan. Our own offensive, our battle cry for liberation, ultimately broke the chains that bound that village. The winds of fortune favored us that day, saving lives and preventing yet another dark chapter from being written."

The recounting was done, leaving an echo of struggle and resilience in the air.

The path through these liberated settlements was a grim testament to the battles that raged. Charred remnants of tanks stood as haunting reminders on the roadside, hinting at the ferocity that had unfolded. Vlad's voice carried a weight, as if he were standing amidst the smoldering aftermath.

"These villages bore witness to fierce battles," Vlad continued, his tone a mix of sorrow and determination. "But let's not overlook the precursor – the Ukrainian military's deliberate destruction of these very villages. Houses reduced to rubble, lives shattered by relentless shelling. The scars left behind, remnants of 2014, were indelible."

The gravity in his voice deepened. "Lugansk itself, a city once teeming with life, fell victim to a barrage of artillery and aerial assaults. Streets lay deserted, void of life and vehicles. In the summer of 2014, you could roam the city and meet just a couple of souls on your journey. A mere fraction of the 250,000 population that once called it home remained, huddled in fear, seeking refuge from the onslaught."

He resonated with empathy. "Yet, the resilience of the human spirit was our saving grace. Amid the chaos, Russian journalists ventured to these war-torn lands, filming moments of courage and compassion. They dared to bring aid to the embattled locals, to stand in solidarity with those who braved the storm. It's in these stories that you find humanity's indomitable spirit."

As his words flowed, Vlad painted a vivid picture. "Amid the ruins, kitchens stood as beacons of hope, providing warm meals to those yearning for comfort. Yet, even these sanctuaries didn't escape the assault. The sprawling trolleybus control center, a once-thriving hub of connectivity, was decimated, as were countless others. These objects, they bore the scars of foreign aggression."

His tone hardened, a reflection of the weight of survival. "You see, it's a battle for existence, for life itself. The future holds the answers to questions of life in Donetsk, of its shape and contours. Our mission, our foremost goal, is to secure our territory, to mend the shattered lives of those who call it home. But how to chart the path forward, that's a decision vested in the people who have endured and persevered."

A sense of reflection and contemplation hung in the air. "History tells us that even in 2014, as unity with the Russian world was on the ballot, the people spoke with a resounding voice. It was a voice of allegiance, of choosing state independence and embracing the Russian world. The echoes of that sentiment reverberate to this day."

A note of realism tinged his predictions, "However, the future, it's an uncharted territory. A new referendum, should it come to pass, might present different questions, unique contexts. But, the power to decide will rest with the people who've weathered these storms, who yearn for life in these lands."

Vlad's voice brimmed with a blend of pragmatism and caution. "Of course, narratives are woven and woven again. The state-run and Western media, they craft their own tales to align with their agenda. Truth often takes a back seat to political motives. The distorted portrayals persist – a dance orchestrated by those who pull the strings."

The urgency in his voice underscored his point. "Energy supply, a lifeline for these territories, is gradually being rekindled. But, the scars run deep, the infrastructure ravaged by warfare. The path to normalcy is a long one, fraught with obstacles. Yet, the spirit endures."

Vlad's final words resonated with a fervor for progress. "Our focus, as we press on, is to ensure schools stand ready for the students by September 1. Housing, too, is paramount – those unable to return to their homes receive housing certificates, a lifeline toward rebuilding. It's a comprehensive effort, grounded in the aspiration to shepherd these lands toward a future of stability, resilience, and hope."

As I leaned in, Vlad's words flowed like a gentle, steady stream, recounting the intricate web of challenges and resilience that defined their struggle.

Vlad began, his tone heavy with reflection, "I've got an optimistic view for the upcoming autumn-winter stretch. But you need to grasp that it's not just optimism, it's a lifeline forged from a partnership that runs deep. Russia, for us, isn't just a partner – it's a convergence of shared destinies. When we divvied up the work, it wasn't just about alliances; it was about tackling shared battles. You see, character wasn't just the backdrop; it was the very criteria that guided us."

He leaned forward, as if inviting me to step into his world. "Consider a city, an industrial hub, like Alchevsk. The Vologda region stepped up to support, not just because it's a mere gesture, but because they understood the intricacies. The man steering the aid understands Alchevsk as if it were his hometown. He's dealt with similar struggles, found solutions, and that's what we need now. It's about finding familiarity in shared troubles – cities like kin, industries like brethren."

Vlad's gaze intensified, his words carrying the weight of conviction. "It's more than politics; it's about humanity aligning with reality. These connections are the catalyst for swifter progress. And you know what? It's yielding results already. Just take a drive through the DNR, and you'll hit stretches of new roads under reconstruction – it's not entirely done, but it's alive with movement. Even segments have been fully resurrected – something we couldn't muster in eight grueling years, weighed down by limitations."

Leaning back, Vlad's eyes took on a certain sparkle, his hands animatedly mapping out his words. "Keep this in mind – the ring road in Lugansk. The bypass from the military quarter towards the outskirts? It's been overhauled, transformed into something you'd hardly recognize. Headed towards Alchevsk, where the surface was stripped, lies ready for a fresh layer."

He paused, letting the scene settle in before continuing, "And the water supply systems? They're no different. We're constructing a new pipeline to quench Rovenka's thirst, a spot plagued by drought. Remember Belogorsk? It's free now – the very source from where water flowed into our lands. But here's the catch – the wires have faced their fair share of troubles. We're tackling the reconstruction of the Belarusian pumping station head-on. It's an uphill battle, but we'll restore it, improve water supply. Even where water runs on a schedule, like a lifeline to the people."

He looked at me, his eyes mirroring his determination. "Take Rovenki – the last link of that conduit. That's where the struggle was intense, palpable. But we're building a bypass pipeline – a solution to quench Rovenki's thirst."

Vlad's voice held a touch of pride, "We're working tirelessly, tirelessly indeed. Our thermal power plant is a success story, a phoenix rising from the ashes. As for the salvation plan? Well, it's like this – we're living in a world where emotions run deep, a world where perceptions sway decisions. How do we justify actions to those skeptics who question Russia's intentions?"

He leaned in, his gaze unwavering, "But, you see, we're driven by something more profound. Beyond the veneer, beneath the currents of perception, lies the truth – we're rebuilding, restoring, securing a future. The road ahead might be uphill, but the spirit to reclaim these lands is unshakable – a beacon that pierces through the challenges."

I asked, "The plan of salvation, how will it be now?"

Vlad's voice held a resolute tone, his eyes locked onto mine. "It's a question that's not easy to answer, John. You see, in Russia and Ukraine, emotions run high, and everyone's got an opinion on how to justify the actions of Russians on this soil. How do you reckon with that? What do you say in the face of all this scrutiny?"

He leaned back slightly, contemplating the depths of this conundrum. "Let's look back into history – that's where answers often lie. How do you justify the blood shed by Soviet soldiers who fought to defeat Nazi Germany? Can you explain the sacrifice of 22 million lives – some say even 30 million – on the part of the Soviet Union and its allies during World War II? Can you rationalize it when modern Russian liberals argue that Leningrad should have been abandoned, surrendered to the blockade? That's the kind of debate they stir."

A reflective pause lingered in the air as he continued, "But history, my friend, history tells a different tale. How do you justify the immense losses, the unspeakable horrors of the Second World War? Could anyone say it was acceptable not to defend Leningrad, to let the Germans march in? Imagine a world where that happened, where fascism was allowed to gain its grip unchallenged. We've witnessed firsthand how it spiraled – the concentration camps, the slaughter of innocents, local populations turned against their own, armed policemen collaborating in the massacre. Do we really want to see that echoed today?"