We Dream of Different Life

A country alone we need.

To see hell, one does not need to go down under the ground accompanied by Vergilius. It's enough to visit our compatriots, as activists of European Belarus did during the signature collection campaign.

Yes, I saw hell. It was not somewhere in the underground with boiling lava but on the sixth floor. Hell was a one-room small apartment, and there were two people in it. They were drunk to death.

They were not relatives but neighbours and companions in misfortune. However, there were a lot of misfortunes in their lives, but the first was Afghan. Contusiliated, wounded, destroyed, awarded. The present power has finished with all the rest. It deprived them of benefits, prospects and purpose. It, the power, needs pink-cheeked obedient chubby babies. It doesn't need the "Afghan warriors" with the broken psyche. Pensioners, Chernobyl victims, disabled people are not needed as well. These two live in their little hell in the neighbouring houses and drink: the pension is enough only for low-quality alcohol. It's not enough either for medicines or for good food, no matter how hard they try. It was scary to step into this hopeless hell. But it is necessary. And when we started talking, these two who seemed to have lost interest in life forever, somehow puffed their chests up and even expressed something similar to a dashing hussar heel-clicking. They told about their unbearable life and expressed everything they think about the current government. It was clear, tough and straight. Pathetic, unhappy, drinking, they were happy that at least someone cared. Something could still change in the country and their own lives. And there are still people in this floaty swamp of hopelessness who are not ready to sink into it, but ready to pull out those who are already there. They even tried to give me a souvenir. The choice was, frankly speaking, poor. I became a happy owner of a roll of parchment paper: "It's a very useful gift," they explained. - This paper is good to send parcels if one is jailed". I hope I won't need it anymore. But I accepted the gift.

I also saw hell in a well-to-do Stalin house in the very center, near Victory Square. Hell was in the form of an expensively dressed woman who was hissing, swallowing vowels: "Hell with it. Leave it all here soon. Forget everything. Forget this damn country, forget this whole life, forget this city. I don't care anymore. If you still believe in something, you haven't lived yet". This hissing, like hot oil in a frying pan, the monologue was scarier than those drunken men. She accepted her hell and saw the way out only in crossing the state border, which separates hell from paradise. This woman had a smell not of hopelessness, but hatred - fierce, nutritious and devouring. It all happened in the city center, among advertisements with those chubby and obedient.

There was hell in another apartment on Frunze Street, near Gorky Park, the fifth floor. There was a 92-year-old professor. They were the coldest days of early October and the heating was on. However, the warmth did not reach her apartment. When she called 115 she was gladly informed that her number was 800 and the woman got completely upset. Finally, Maksim Viniarski reached the municipal service. At that time, Volha Mikalaichyk listened to her story. About her son, who died. About no strength to leave the house. About unbearable old ages in Belarus. Of course, we won't leave this woman now. We are not the state, after all. It leaves pensioners and disabled people alone locked on top floors without heating. It has the veterans of the Afghan war who drink and are thrown away. Beautiful, educated women run away from it. 95 per cent of the people who live here hate this state. It has turned so many different people's lives into hell and the census will no longer be needed anymore.

But they all dream of living a different life. This feature makes us unite. As well as dreams that have not come true. A life that has failed. Hope for the best, which is almost gone. We are all the same, with our piece of hell, with our buried dreams, with our never-dying hopes. Only together can we escape from this swamp. We don't need heaven instead of hell, a country alone we need. Normal European country. It may be boring sometimes, but it is never terrifying.

Iryna Khalip, especially for Charter97.org

If you like this article, you can support the website Charter97.org

MULTI-CURRENCY ACCOUNT FOR ASSISTANCE:

Bank's name: Bank Millennium S.A.
Address: ul. Stanislawa Zaryna, 2A, 02-593, Warszawa
IBAN: PL 97 1160 2202 0000 0002 1671 1123
SWIFT: BIGBPLPW
Name of the account holder: Fundacja “KARTA ‘97”
Purpose/title of payment: Donation for statuary aims

You can contact us by the e-mail charter97@gmail.com