Because We Are Partisans

ULADZIMIR KHALIP
7.12.2020, 17:00
91,716

The country laughs at the regime's clumsy attempts.

This day began long before dawn. It seems that the self-confident government has seriously decided to seize the initiative dashingly. And if it's very lucky, then take revenge. Nothing could prevent such an undertaking. It's dark. It's frosty. The city is sleeping. There are no obstacles or hindrances. It's a seemingly ordinary Sunday afternoon.

That's why, still in the darkness from all sides, dull columns of paddy wagons, minibusses, trucks with barbed wire, and other means of intimidation were reaching for Minsk. At the back of these gloomy columns, like carts with waitresses and occasional adventurers, nimble flocks of cars under the standard flags of red and green colors. These nomenklatura servants, playing an angry people at the right moments, were ordered to support the special operation in every possible way.

The idea is stunning, but the execution is hopelessly moronic. This frisky flock reeked of bureaucracy and ideological hackery in a mile. Excellent limousines and government standard flags. Who plays the people's anger and immense gratitude to the permanent power like that? Where are the Muscovites of indignant veterans and rusty Zhiguli of any other pensioners, always ready for the last battle for the irremovability of the one who promised them a daily sunrise and an inevitable change of seasons. It's almost free. And in general, to close the formidable column of armored vehicles and trucks with barbed wire, a firm contingent is needed. And all sorts of serviceable "bucket eaters" are too pathetic and even embarrassing. Lazy and self-interested. In a dangerous moment, they can easily slip away.

Therefore, the strategist, who lost his position in a grueling struggle with the calendar, planned a preemptive strike. Sudden and decisive. With all the forces that he managed to collect to protect the bunker and other encroachments. He threw his main reserve into the offensive - the court division named after surveillance and wiretapping. When I saw how many there were, I didn't even believe it at first. How to feed such a horde? They will certainly claim some bribe in the end.

People in black and olive went on the attack in a very stupid way. Scattered. Moreover, the bulky ammunition took its toll. They got sweaty quickly. And the attack somehow shrank. It cannot be said that it drowned, but it acquired obvious indecision. There were even videos on the Internet that impassively captured the regime's genre scenes.

Here is some brute in black with a gun offhand sneaking somewhere under the windows of the Khrushchev's house. It's scary and dangerous. He remembers the highest admonition: "Enemies are around!" There are voices of those who were simply stunned by this regime's feat. They laugh: "Officer, shoot yourself!" How can you continue the risky journey inland? But the punishers run and fall and continue running again. Because it's scary. The regime is fierce - at lunch, they can easily deprive of compote. Some angry official, driving sluggish subordinates into a covered truck, preferred the distribution of slaps on the back of the head to the statutory orders. What an army!

But even in such a half-disassembled state, they managed to capture about three hundred citizens of the attacked city. A demonstrator with a flag or just a person who went out to fetch salt could at one moment find themselves in a paddy wagon. A raid is a common story in the occupation regime. It's a total hysteria of the bankrupt government. They grabbed everyone who came across without dividing and not distinguishing.

Nina Bahinskaya was again detained. They took the mother of the famous journalist Hanna Sous. The detainee was born in 1941. But what does it matter to them? They took and led her. This is the order. It doesn't matter who gets caught. The old man. Teenager. A person with disabilities. Or this woman who was born in 1941. All the same. Only they deeply spit on all this. Occupation is work. A lot of work. But only in this way, with this power, a simple hammerer can curry favor and carve out his own piece. Therefore, go ahead!

The country laughs at the regime's clumsy attempts. No matter how you equip the punishers, no matter how much money you throw into the insatiable furnace of all sorts of special operations and sweeps, everything is in vain. There is not even a hint of the promised victory over this blazing protest and cannot be. It doesn't deflate, no matter what!

It seems that the center of Minsk was cleared, blocked, and under the strictest protection. But in all districts, angry citizens came out again. And what, do the punishers feel confident in the ring of those who are not afraid of them and openly despise? All the same protest columns are going along the passages, paths, and sidewalks. They meet, merging into large masses. In an instant, they suddenly change the route, blocking the highway. Of course, the mercenaries receive a signal and rush there. But no one is there anymore. The white-red-white stream disappeared, like a mirage or morning fog, to reappear in a different location.

Because we are partisans. The strategy of hurricane and flood will never be understood by the command staff of the regime's nine special services. And the best way out for them from such a hopeless situation is perhaps to be cunning, to get out and stay as far as possible from the intentions of their leader, which has already been archived.

It's an ordinary courtyard somewhere between two streets leading to the city center. The day is nearing sunset. Before leaving after the march home, the already fairly thinned column stopped. The last picture to remember this day for a long time. In the video, of course. Almost everyone has their own flag. Chic, white-red-white. And the same, unrolled by the wind, high above everyone. And the horn is already sounding - every yard has its own creativity. The December sun still shines through the leafless crowns. Shoulder to shoulder so that everyone could be in one shot. There are smiles. And if you're a little sad, it's okay. The flag flutters in the December wind. And the trumpet melody doesn't stop. The one hundred and twentieth day is slowly passing into history.

What color revolution there, what are you talking about? Every day passed on our way to freedom is unthinkable, inhuman trials and losses. And tears. And pain. And, sometimes, it seems that the strength is gone.

Because We Are Partisans

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