When illiterate Buryats fight, it’s one thing, but when it’s your husband’s turn, it gets awkward

Irina Govorukha is a Ukrainian writer and literary blogger. She was born and lives in Kyiv. He is the author of 8 novels, 2 collections of short stories and 2 collections of essays.

In 2022, with the start of Russia’s war against Ukraine, Irina Govorukha interrupted work on the romance novel she was writing and started writing a chronicle of the tragic events in her country. To date, the writer has conducted over 1,000 interviews with living witnesses from Chernihiv, Mariupol, Borodyanka, Bucha, Kharkiv, Kherson and Severodonetsk.

The text we are publishing is from the Facebook page of the Ukrainian writer. It was shared thousands of times, but only a day later it was blocked after mass reporting on Facebook.

Yesterday I read a post from a Muscovite.

She is worried and upset. It turns out that the illusory and completely unclear war began to brazenly knock on the door, which is quite unpleasant.

When illiterate Buryats fight and kill the “hochlite”* – that’s one thing, but when it’s the husband’s turn, it gets awkward.

I flip through her page.

There’s just nothing in it. Pancake recipes, fields of flowers, reflections on marital fidelity. How to renovate the kitchen, exercises for the vagina, tips for vacationers. Flap-eared cats, healing chamomile… Finally, it dawns on you that a war has been going on for half a year…

From the beginning, we were obsessed with Russian mothers. We used different words and expressions, but the message was the same: “Stop the Violence”.

God, why didn’t they write me back. I was advised to change the vibration as mine is already too low. They recommended me to think about the good and improve my information field. They sent meditations on harmonizing soul and body and offered to make paper airplanes. And to write on them the spiritual “I am for peace” shooting them skyward.

Once we had a long conversation with a good acquaintance of mine from St. Petersburg. She blamed the politicians for everything and insisted on some sort of settlement.

Agreement for what? That our territories should be given? Give Kherson, Mariupol, Crimea?

The lady avoided a direct answer and philosophized about some kind of unity. That all men are brothers and so, blah blah blah. Finally, I couldn’t help myself.

– And what? Good idea. Let’s negotiate. You give me your apartment on Nevsky. You like our Crimea, but I like your apartment overlooking the Hermitage.

The woman left the network saying she had work to do.

At the very beginning of the war, my husband wrote letters to former partners. He told about Gostomel, Irpen, Chernigov. In response he received the indifferent: “We are out of politics”. Well, my dears, welcome to its very epicenter.

I received a private message this morning: “It hurts me that in your texts all Russians are enemies. After all, the military (both yours and ours) carry out orders, that is their profession”.

Well, what can I say?

An excellent profession for robbing, torturing, raping. Do you even know what it was like in Borodianka?

A house in the very center (I have the address and eyewitness accounts) was shelled by a tank. The woman who was in the house looked out the window and showed the child. As if saying “Behold, I have no weapons, but in my hands I carry the most valuable”.

And do you know what your military did? They masterfully aimed and fired right into this window begging for mercy. Now once again you have convinced me to love the Russians who give and carry out such orders.

There was a commotion in the aggressor state. Six months after it started, it finally got scary.

Before that, no one was worried that an old man in a basement in Irpin cut his veins out of fear. It didn’t matter that my niece was afraid of a Russian missile that could “cut off her legs.”

Shit, there was a woman embroidering by the window (a real woman, she has a first and last name). Her leg was severed. All this was far from you, and you are out of politics…

Now the war threatens the lives of the inhabitants of Peter and of Muscovites.

Well, gentlemen, I think it’s time we sat down for a meditation. Most importantly, remember to launch paper airplanes into the sky with a sincere: “We are for peace.”


* Khokhli – a contemptuous name by which Russians call Ukrainians. As a connotation, it corresponds to “butchers” – the insulting word with which Ukrainians call Russians


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