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"Love is as varied as people are."

~Magnus Hirschfeld (date unknown)

The Yamnaya archaeological complex appeared around 3300BCE across the steppes north of the Black and Caspian Seas, and by 3000BCE reached its maximal extent from Hungary in the west to Kazakhstan in the east. To localize the ancestral and geographical origins of the Yamnaya among the diverse Eneolithic people that preceded them, we studied ancient DNA data from 428 individuals of which 299 are reported for the first time, demonstrating three previously unknown Eneolithic genetic clines.

First, a "Caucasus-Lower Volga" (CLV) Cline suffused with Caucasus hunter-gatherer (CHG) ancestry extended between a Caucasus Neolithic southern end in Neolithic Armenia, and a steppe northern end in Berezhnovka in the Lower Volga. Bidirectional gene flow across the CLV cline created admixed intermediate populations in both the north Caucasus, such as the Maikop people, and on the steppe, such as those at the site of Remontnoye north of the Manych depression. CLV people also helped form two major riverine clines by admixing with distinct groups of European hunter-gatherers. A "Volga Cline" was formed as Lower Volga people mixed with upriver populations that had more Eastern hunter-gatherer (EHG) ancestry, creating genetically hyper-variable populations as at Khvalynsk in the Middle Volga. A "Dnipro Cline" was formed as CLV people bearing both Caucasus Neolithic and Lower Volga ancestry moved west and acquired Ukraine Neolithic hunter-gatherer (UNHG) ancestry to establish the population of the Serednii Stih culture from which the direct ancestors of the Yamnaya themselves were formed around 4000BCE. This population grew rapidly after 3750-3350BCE, precipitating the expansion of people of the Yamnaya culture who totally displaced previous groups on the Volga and further east, while admixing with more sedentary groups in the west. CLV cline people with Lower Volga ancestry contributed four fifths of the ancestry of the Yamnaya, but also, entering Anatolia from the east, contributed at least a tenth of the ancestry of Bronze Age Central Anatolians, where the Hittite language, related to the Indo-European languages spread by the Yamnaya, was spoken.

\\We thus propose that the final unity of the speakers of the "Proto-Indo-Anatolian" ancestral language of both Anatolian and Indo-European languages can be traced to CLV cline people sometime between 4400-4000 BCE. \\

Great American hero items to be in the hands of a private person. Just upset its not gonna be me.

This article is a heartfelt ode to the resilience and fortitude of Russian women, whose contributions have been pivotal yet often overlooked. It’s a narrative that weaves through personal stories and historical events, shedding light on the silent endurance that has shaped a nation.

A woman of any nationality or ethnicity first and foremost deserves deep respect, if only because she performs the most important event on our sinful earth. She gives birth to a person. She creates the future. For this alone, we men are obliged to carry a woman in our arms, to cherish and protect her. I'm not even talking about what else a woman does. She feeds us from the very first minute of our appearance in the world until the end of her days. She stays awake at night and guards our sleep, our health, our peace. She creates comfort and beauty at home. A woman makes knights, men out of us. For women, we strive to become better, braver, more noble. Much more can be said about what a woman means to humanity, but there simply isn't enough time for that. And this applies to all women of any nationality and any country. But now I want to talk about the Russian woman, and there is no nationalism or chauvinism here. Because firstly, I am Ossetian and I do not think that my mother was worse than women of other nationalities, my wife is Georgian. I can only say that the life of both Ossetian and Georgian women is not easy and not simple. My wife has been through fire and water and the copper pipes with me. I will only stop at one example from my wife's life. In 1966, I was transferred from Baku to Tiksi for service. It is the southern shore, but of the Arctic Ocean. Three children, the youngest 3 months old. She takes them in her arms and, without warning me, flies to Tiksi. And at that time, I was putting the company on combat duty, no, not in Thailand, on the island of Kotelny, somewhere at the 75th latitude, the center of the Arctic Ocean. Frankly, not every Frenchwoman would have dared to take such a step. But by that time, she had already become a Russian woman, as she was married to an Ossetian but to a Russian officer.

I want to talk about the Russian woman because the fate of the Russian woman is the fate of the Russian people. The Russian people have played a decisive role in the fates of the peoples historically associated with it.

Much has been written about the Russian woman, and very beautifully. Personally, it was reading Russian literature that shaped my perception of the Russian woman. It was Turgenev, Tolstoy, Goncharov, Leskov, of course, Gorky, and others who created in my consciousness the most beautiful image of the Russian woman. The fact is that I lived in Tbilisi until I was 20 years old and I rarely came into contact with Russians. It was when I, as a cadet of the Odessa anti-aircraft artillery school, on vacation from Tbilisi, stole my wife \to be fair, it must be said that she herself longed for me to steal her\ and brought her to Odessa, having neither money nor an apartment nor anything at all, that we with my wife felt the most genuine friendly help from Russian women. It was very hard for my wife. As a second-year cadet, I received 7 rubles 50 kopecks. For the coal, which a comrade gave up to us, we had to pay 10 rubles. My wife did not know the Russian language, had no profession, and we had to live. Russian women arranged for her to work at a sewing factory, befriended her, and provided her with the most genuine support. I graduated from the school and was sent to the Baku Air Defense District. It was such a godforsaken district. We lost our son there. Kyurdamir, in the summer the heat is up to 50 degrees in the shade. Mosquitoes, gnats, snakes crawled into our Finnish houses. I don't know which Englishwoman or German woman would have endured such wild conditions, but the Russian woman was next to her husband and helped him withstand these inhuman conditions and maintain high combat readiness of the units and subdivisions. And again, Russian women provided support and help to my wife. We were able to withstand these conditions largely thanks to the officers' wives, and they were usually Russian. They even organized amateur activities that somehow made our life more interesting and helped us survive. So our life with my wife turned out that we communicated with Russian women in military towns, garrisons, as with officers' wives. And to be an officer's wife, my friends, is not a task for the faint-hearted. And Russian women followed their husbands to hell and back. Let's remember the wives of the Decembrists. And when I saw in Tiksi how the officers' wives lived, I thought that probably the wives of the Decembrists had it a bit easier. I arrived in Tiksi in July 1966. I see from the airplane window the Laptev Sea, huge chunks of ice floating. The air temperature is around zero. I introduced myself to the authorities. They gave me an 8 sq m room for two. Barracks, down the middle corridor. The barracks are wooden. On both sides of the corridor are 8 sq m rooms. Naturally, the conveniences are both in winter \40 degrees of frost, 40 meters per second, polar night\ and in summer on the street. I have been to these conveniences. To say it's scary is an understatement. Common kitchen. 20 primus stoves, around the circle stand 20 women huddled together and cook lunch for the valiant defenders of the country's air borders. And yet, American bombers with nuclear warheads flew! Water is brought in, rather carried in. That is, a truck brought chunks of ice, which were cut somewhere in a freshwater lake. Women put these chunks in their barrels, and there the chunks melted. That's the water. Tell me, which woman would agree to live in these hellish conditions? I'm not even talking about the polar night from November to April, about blizzards, about the fact that summer is only 2 months with temperatures of minus 2 plus 2, the rest is winter! Tiksi is still the tropics compared to what I saw on the islands of Kegel and Kotelny. These islands are part of the Novosibirsk Archipelago. I had to sit on these islands for months. We had radio-technical companies there. A company of about 7-8 officers and about 50 soldiers. The island, all around the Arctic Ocean. Soldiers' barracks, officers' barracks. Combat equipment. In winter, you can't go outside, you won't return, blizzard, polar night. In summer, such slush, everything sticks to the shoes. It's very difficult to walk. I will not talk about the conveniences. So the officers' wives and children walk in the semi-dark corridor, illuminated by a dim light bulb. I had to eat such "delicacies" as dried potatoes, dried onions, dried carrots, and everything in that spirit. No radio, no television, nothing. What would have happened to the officer if there had not been a loving, tender, caring wife nearby? One can only imagine! But they were there, they were nearby. They could not have been there. They were not obliged to be there. No one would have reproached them for not going there. But they were there. That's the kind of Russian woman there is. I met Russian women in Krasnoyarsk, where I was transferred from the Arctic to the position of head of the political department of the regiment. The regiment has 9 divisions. Divisions in the deep Taiga. Wooden officers' houses. The frost reaches 55 degrees. Water is brought in. Schools, shops are 40-50 km away. No work for the officers' wives. I come to the division, gather the women, what questions? An officer's wife says she's a doctor, but there's no work in the division. The next one says she's a teacher, but there's no work. And so in every division. They could, and probably even had the right, to go to the city, to their father, mother, and get a job. No, they were in the taiga, next to their husbands, and with their presence supported the husbands so that the husbands ensured the clear sky over our Motherland. Well, tell me how not to admire the Russian woman. And I don't have to go far.

My own daughter lived for almost 4 years on the Kuril Islands, on Shikotan, on Iturup, islands that the Japanese want to take back, alongside her husband, an air defense officer. And the little children were with us and with the husband's parents. My daughter took an example from her Russified mother. Time passed, and I was transferred to Klin, to the Anti-Ballistic Missile Defense. In 1973, I was moved to Naro-Fominsk as the head of the political department of the separate anti-missile center, and here the situation was different. The living conditions, for those times, were wonderful for an air defense officer, even beyond his wildest dreams. A closed town. A house of culture, a school, a kindergarten, shops of all kinds, a post office, in short, everything needed for a normal life. But there were other difficulties here. The town was 20 km from the district center, with up to 2,000 women, officers' wives, warrant officers, and there was not enough work in the military town for all the women, which caused certain tensions. Of course, this was felt, and something had to be done. There were several women's councils in the unit. We gathered and decided to organize amateur artistic activities, fortunately, we had a music school and there were music teachers. I am grateful to those women all my life. We organized excellent amateur performances. I can say without exaggeration, we always took prize places at competitions. And so, the amateur activities to a certain extent relieved the tension. People were busy with work. Even now, before my eyes stand my wonderful, beautiful, graceful, full of inner nobility and a sense of self-worth, Russian women.

In conclusion, I would like to say that men wrongly claim Victory Day for themselves. The German general Guderian, in his memoirs, writes that if the Russians had not had Russian women, the Russians would not have won. Although he was a fascist, I agree with Guderian in this case. Unfortunately, what struck me was that the Russian woman lacks the attention she deserves. A woman can forgive everything, but she will never forgive inattention to herself. Therefore, dear men, you need to be attentive to a woman not only on March 8 but always. They are worthy of it.

Chigoev Sh. A.

Embark on a journey through the personal reflections of a life rich in experience and contemplation. This narrative delves into the true meaning of wealth, beyond the material, and invites readers to consider the legacy we weave through our years. Herein lies a story that resonates across generations, urging us to ponder the depth and breadth of our own lives.

Beautiful words from a famous song performed by an equally famous singer from Georgia. But perhaps my years are not wealth but a heavy burden that oppresses me with old age diseases or heavy thoughts. The question is not simple. On one hand, it seems very good that I have lived to be 94 years old. After all, not many live to such an age, and probably one should rejoice that one has lived to such, as they say, advanced age. Yes, logically, one should rejoice, but unfortunately, there is little joy at this age. It feels as if I'm sitting in a death row cell waiting for either an angel or a devil to come for me, depending on where they will drag me to heaven or hell. Well, I have little hope for heaven. Our socialist system raised me as an atheist, and all my life I fought against the "opium" of the people, that is, against religion. So, there is no hope for heaven. And I don't want to go to hell. It's best if there's nothing there. These are the not very joyful thoughts that constantly come to mind. Hence the gloomy moods. Hence the irritability. Hence the depression. Unfortunately, the younger generation does not always take into account such a mental state of the older generation and do not understand the seemingly causeless irritability of the older generation. In the spirit of self-criticism, I must say that we too, when we were young, did not really understand the mental state of the older generation. But, still, not everything is so bad in old age. There are joys that are only inherent to the older generation. We rejoice when our children are doing well. We rejoice at the appearance of grandchildren, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. After all, each of them has a part of grandmothers, grandfathers, great-grandmothers, great-grandfathers. Perhaps this is our immortality. We leave, but we also remain in our continuation in our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Perhaps this is the main content of our life, to continue ourselves in our offspring.

Yes, it is a great joy when you live to see great-grandchildren and when you feel relatively normal. I say relatively because at such an age for a person not to be sick does not happen. But for now, I walk on my own legs and serve myself for my needs. This is also very important. Much has changed during the time I have lived in this world. I remember when a car appeared on our street, we children ran after the car and shouted car! Car! For us, a car was some kind of wonder. In 1937, the first elections to the Supreme Soviet of the USSR took place in the country. As part of the agitation work, so-called crop dusters flew over the city and dropped postcards urging people to participate in the elections. After that, when an airplane flew over us, we children shouted for it to drop papers. How far away all this is now! Much has been preserved in memory, but much has also been erased. I remember very well June 22, 1941. I was 11 years old. I was at my aunt's near Tbilisi in the village. I see everyone running to the center of the village where the loudspeaker hung. Then, homes and apartments were not radiofied, and in populated areas, such a horn, radio, loudspeaker was installed. And I ran there. I see people standing, and everyone's heads are down. They listen to the radio with their heads bowed, and only the voice of the announcer is heard. He was transmitting Molotov's speech about the treacherous attack of fascist Germany on the Soviet Union. This happened around 12 o'clock in the afternoon. The day was bright and sunny. Men and women stood in the square, and there was complete silence. A heavy, anxious silence. And it was not Molotov's speech that made a heavy impression on me, but this oppressive, pressing silence in the square where several hundred people were. This terrible silence told me that an event had occurred that really threatened all of us with death.

From that heavy day, my whole life changed radically and for the worse. The struggle for survival began. We lived quite poorly even before the war. Mother was a cleaner at school. Father was a chimney sweep and also a decent drinker of Georgian wines. And there were four of us children. The room where we lived, if it could be called a room, was 12 square meters. All conveniences and inconveniences were outside. My brother and I slept on the floor, under the table, there was nowhere else. And despite this poverty, the pre-war years are remembered as somewhat bright, warm. Perhaps these years were the best years of my life. Before the war, even food appeared in the stores. The main thing was that there was enough bread. And for us, bread was the main dish. And the fact that we lived poorly, I somehow did not think about it because I had not seen another life. Everyone lived approximately at the same level as we did. Someone maybe a little better, someone maybe a little worse. There were no particularly rich people on our street. There was a German family living in the neighboring yard, they had a piano, so they were considered rich in our understanding. Or if someone had a phonograph, they were also considered rich. There was no one to envy. Maybe that's why the relationships between people before the war were friendly, there were no locks on the front doors. They shared the last piece of bread with each other. In the evening, all the residents of our courtyard gathered under the mulberry tree and talked about many different issues. They often talked about whether there would be a war with Germany. Someone brought a fresh newspaper, and I was asked to read it aloud. So it turns out where my political work began. And all this calm, peaceful life disappeared in an instant. WAR. In the fall, my father was called to the front. There were four of us children, 13, 11, and two 3-year-olds, and we all wanted to eat. How we survived these difficult war years, and the post-war years, I write more in detail in my memoirs. Here I just want to ask myself the question, were these my years my wealth? No. God forbid anyone such wealth. Well, for Kikabidze, of course, the years of his childhood and adolescence were wealth. He did not have to live in the years of war. And it's kind of offensive that the theme: children of war, what they had to go through, and not only in the Leningrad blockade, which certainly deserves special attention. But, in general, this issue needs to be raised. What the children of war had to go through in the Soviet Union. How "rich" were their childhood years! Then the country helped the front with everything it could. The question of our existence as a people, as a country, was being decided. Therefore, we lived by the law: "everything for the front, everything for victory." We had no childhood, no youth. It is unlikely that these years can be considered our wealth. But that's not all. When we entered retirement age and thought that we were going out to a well-deserved rest and a happy old age ahead of us, life turned 180 degrees, and those who were nobody became everything. We, who built factories, cities, defended the country, now we have become nobody. And they threw us, like a dog is thrown gnawed bones, a beggarly pension. There's no talk of wealth here. So our years that were beggarly in childhood turned out to be even more beggarly in old age. So unfortunately, it doesn't work out that my years are my wealth.

And what is wealth, after all? How do we measure this wealth? Of course, all of us want to live well. But what does it mean to live well? For some, it's enough to have a good apartment, a country house, a car, and to have healthy children who don't have bad habits and stand firmly on their own two feet in life. For others, even millions of dollars are not enough; they want billions. So how much money and property does one need to have to feel satisfied in this life and to consider their years as their wealth? I suppose no one can give an answer to such a question. But there is wealth that is not only material. To know oneself, to understand the world around us, to appreciate the art created by humanity. Literature, music, etc. Isn't that wealth? I've already said that I come from a very poor family, but I didn't pay special attention to my poverty and didn't worry about being poor as some young people do. Since childhood, I have loved to read. Not far from our home was a decent library. In our time, the library mainly had classical literature. I read foreign, Russian, Georgian, Armenian classical literature, of course, what was printed in the Georgian language. That is wealth. It's impossible to list all the writers whose works I've read; there are too many. Since childhood, I've had a strong inclination to read. We lived on the outskirts of the city, and frankly, apart from reading books, I had no other entertainment. I had neither the money nor decent clothes to go to the cinema in the city center, and besides, the cinemas were far from our home. There were no televisions, not even a radio point at our place. A radio point was installed in our shack around 1948. So books and only books were my source of knowledge about the world. It must be said that the radio greatly expanded my knowledge, especially in music. The radio broadcasted wonderful music programs. Opera music, Verdi, Tchaikovsky, Paliashvili, Gounod, Mussorgsky, Puccini, Beethoven, Glinka, Mozart, and I will not list any more, all the music programs were in this spirit. At first, I did not appreciate opera and classical music in general. I thought that all this was not for us, at least not for me. But an interesting event happened in my life. I wrote in my memoirs that I was born in the mountains of South Ossetia, in the village of Dzvaris-Ubani. The thing is, my mother, who already lived in Tbilisi, was in Dzvaris-Ubani for the summer, and there she went into labor. At the same time, my father was arrested. Well, it was 1930! And my mother had my older brother in her arms, and he was 2 years old. So my mother left me in the village with a woman from the Pliyev family and went to Tbilisi herself. Since she was a healthy woman and had to do something with her breast milk, she was hired to breastfeed the son of some woman. This woman was a veterinarian by profession and worked at the market in sanitary control. She checked the quality of meat at the market. Sometimes she even threw us pieces of meat, but that was after the war. So, around 1947 or 1948, I became interested in who actually drank my milk. My mother gave me their address, and I went to meet my milk brother. He turned out to be a very good boy. We became friends. His father was repressed, which was quite common in those years. They lived on Rustaveli Avenue. The apartment was not very good, but it was near the opera house. It turned out that the controller, who checked the entrance tickets, was a good acquaintance of his mother. Understandably on what grounds. Thus, Nodar, my milk brother's name, took me to the opera every weekend, and sometimes on other days, of course, to daytime performances. We went there because this acquaintance woman let us in without a ticket. I had no musical education, no understanding of what opera was and how to 'eat' it. The first opera I listened to was "The Tsar's Bride". Everything was good, cozy, the seats were soft and comfortable. What was bad was that this tsar's bride was very vocal, and I couldn't fall asleep for a long time. Still, I fell asleep. The next time we went to listen to "Rigoletto". Since I had already adapted to 'listening', I fell asleep instantly. I woke up, especially for the Duke's aria "La donna è mobile". But for "Carmen", I was captivated by the music from the overture, and I listened with rapture until the very end of the opera. Later, I listened to operas by Tchaikovsky, Glinka, Mussorgsky, Gounod, and other composers. I was so captivated by opera music that when I later attended a performance at the drama theater, I missed the music, the musical accompaniment to the performance. And I understood how much music enhances the perception of what is happening on stage. Much later, when I was an officer and on leave in Tbilisi, I listened to Paliashvili's opera "Daisi". "Evening Serenade" in Georgian. I came out of the opera house somehow enlightened, cleansed of everyday domestic dirt. I wanted to do something good for people. I then thought that a person who has listened to such music as "Daisi", Tchaikovsky's first concerto for piano and orchestra, or Rachmaninoff's second concerto, Grieg's "Peer Gynt", and in general musical works by outstanding composers, cannot do something dirty, disgusting. In my opinion, classical music, if understood, cleanses the soul of a person like a prayer spoken before God in a state of strong emotional excitement. I am deeply grateful to those who introduced me to the understanding of such spiritual wealth as opera, classical music, and I sincerely pity those who reject or do not want to accept such a treasure and prefer only material goods, pity.

I am generally amazed at the abundance of luminaries in music, literature, painting, and art in general who were active in the 19th century. In the 20th century, we also see and hear the greatest works of art of all kinds, but the 19th century is unparalleled in this respect. In any case, the pseudo-art that originated in the 20th century and flourished in the 21st century did not exist in the 19th century. My generation had the happy opportunity to interact with real art, not pseudo-art as it is now. Of course, this does not mean that everything was good then and now everything is bad. This is not the correct conclusion. There was also a lot of negative and even disgusting things in the life of my generation. We were raised in the spirit of loyalty to the cause of Lenin-Stalin. We didn't quite understand what Lenin and Stalin's affairs were, but we shouted that we were loyal to their cause. If we had said that we were not loyal, our affairs would have been bad. Unfortunately, in our time, our entire life, including art, literature, music, was limited by the postulates of Marxism-Leninism. Stalin's statements on one issue or another were considered the truth of the highest authority. If you objected, you would become a gold miner in Kolyma or chop wood. Not a pleasant occupation, and the living conditions were not very good. Therefore, even though we did not agree with Stalin, we expressed violent delight that we had such a genius leading the country.

To my great regret, in our time, the opinion of one person determined what we were supposed to read, what we were supposed to listen to, or see. Everything that did not coincide with his opinion was bad and dangerous for the people. This is how the 'father of nations' cared for our moral and ideological upbringing. I vividly remember a series of decisions by the Central Committee of the CPSU/B, on issues of literature and art, where the works of writers, musicians, and artists were subjected to annihilating criticism. By the end of the 1940s, a struggle against cosmopolitanism and prostration before the West had unfolded. Interestingly, if Comrade Stalin saw what is happening in our country in the field of cosmopolitanism and prostration before the West, he would not just turn over in his grave but spin like a fan.

I have dwelt so much on Stalinism because Stalinism also contributed its terrible share to the spiritual upbringing of the younger generation of the 30s and 40s of the last century, and the consequences of such upbringing are still evident now.

I have digressed somewhat from the theme of a person's spiritual wealth, but the spiritual wealth or poverty of a person still depends to a certain extent on the spiritual state of the society in which this individual lives. I lived my main life under Soviet power. Undoubtedly, that ideology, Marxism-Leninism, significantly influenced my worldview. We, our generation, did not have the opportunity to critically assess the prevailing ideology. I sincerely believed in socialism and communism, mainly until the mid-1970s, and I perceived spiritual food through the prism of Marxism-Leninism. Everything that fit into the Procrustean bed of Marxism was correct; everything else was cut off. If you also consider that I was communist No. 1 in my household, you can understand that I had to profess only Marxism, as a priest does the Bible. Moreover, it is very difficult to realize that the best years of my life I was like a blind kitten. I have somewhat digressed from the topic of 'my years, my wealth,' but indirectly I am still answering what wealth the years of our generation had. Perhaps these words imply that the number of years I have lived measures my wealth? I disagree with this. The richest person is a newborn. The greatest wealth is the time allotted to you for life, and the more years I live, the poorer I become. And soon I will be 80 years old, so I am on the brink of poverty. So soon there will be not only no wealth of mine, but I myself will not be. What to do. This is how nature has ordained it. The old dies, the new is born and lives. And this is correct. Otherwise, there would be complete chaos on Earth. Death, as paradoxical as it sounds, is a necessary phenomenon for the normal existence of humanity. Therefore, one should treat this phenomenon more calmly and, as they say, philosophically. If a person reaches an advanced age, 80, 90, 100 years, and passes into another world, there is no need to make a tragedy of it. Of course, it is always sad when a person leaves, but it is normal. But when young people die, violently or from illness, in an accident, etc., of course, it is difficult, and it is indeed a tragedy. There is no justification for this. A person should live at least 100 years. That is normal, and I strive for it. I have a wife who has been with me for over 60 years and cherishes me, my health, like the apple of her eye. She will indeed do everything to ensure that I continue to exist on this sinful earth for as long as possible. We simply have a direct need for this. The fact is that sooner or later we may have a great-grandson from Katya. Question? Who will walk with him \or her\ with the stroller? Of course, my wife and I. She needs to work, the great-grandson \or great-granddaughter\ grandmother will also be working, so it's up to us, me and the great-grandmother. So without us, nothing works out. It's good when there are many children. Someone needs you. And when you are still needed, this feeling also contributes to prolonging life. I don't believe it when some people start rolling their eyes and say, "Ah, I don't want to live, I'm tired of living." Not true! Everyone wants to live and for as long as possible. And you should not be afraid of death. I often think about the questions of life and death. Of course, we, the older generation, will leave, but we also remain. My wife and I have 4 daughters, 3 grandsons, 5 granddaughters, 2 great-grandsons, 3 great-granddaughters. In each of them, there is a particle of our flesh and blood. That's how we live in them. This is immortality.

As for material wealth, on this issue, I would like to quote a poem by the grandson of Nicholas I, Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich:

I am the darling of fate... From the cradle Wealth, honors, high rank Led me to a lofty goal By birth, I am called to greatness. But what are luxury, gold, power, and strength to me Isn't the same impartial grave Going to swallow all this tinsel shine. And everything that flattered us only by appearance here, Will disappear, like the momentary splash of a wave.

I don't think one can say more accurately and deeply about the role and significance of earthly goods. The verse is taken from the book "Heartfelt Secrets of the HOUSE OF ROMANOVS".

I wanted to end this theme of 'my years, my wealth,' but on September 19, an event related to my years occurred, and I cannot fail to mention this event. The fact is that on September 15, 2010, I turned 80 years old. Since the date, from a certain point of view, is not very cheerful, I did not want to celebrate it solemnly. I did not want any solemnity. But my youngest daughter, born in the village of Tiksi, persuaded her sisters, and on September 19, gathered everyone in the Georgian restaurant 'Amirani.' The restaurant is small, very cozy, and beautiful. I expected the usual clichéd toasts, all kinds of praises, about how good I am and all in that spirit. But what my daughter, Fatima, with her husband, Artem, organized was beyond all expectations. And it's not about what kind of table was set, what kind of drinks. All this was, of course, but the main thing was the expression of respect and love for us, the great-grandmother and great-grandfather, from the children, sons-in-law, grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. But my wife and I were pleased not only with how beautifully my Jubilee was organized. We were pleased with the warmth and love with which everyone treated each other at this event. And the relationship between the children is not a simple question. I am proud of my children, grandsons, granddaughters, great-grandsons, great-granddaughters. All my four daughters have higher education, all my sons-in-law have higher education. Grandson Alexey graduated from the military university. Granddaughters, Tatyana, Oksana, Alena, Natasha, with higher education. Grandson Zhenya is a student at Moscow State University, second year. Granddaughter Ekaterina is a student at the Higher School of Economics, second year. And most importantly, all of them entered the university without any nepotism or the like. How can one not be proud of such descendants?

The Banana Wars were a series of US military interventions in Latin America from 1898 to 1934. Why are they relatively understudied, and why are they called banana wars?

> Those who reached my boundary,

> Their heart and their soul are finished forever and ever,

> As for those that had assembled before them on the sea,

> The full flame was their front before the harbor mouth

> And a wall of metal upon the shore surrounded them

>They were dragged, overturned and laid to low upon the beach

> Slain and made heaps from stern to bow of their galleys while all their things were cast upon the water

> Thus, I turned back the waters to remember egypt and when they even mention my name in their land, may it consume them in fear!

Ramses III

src: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpKej05RgsY

more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_the_Delta

The TV channel “Russia,” on the initiative of N. S. Mikhalkov, is showing a project called “the main elections.” I don’t quite understand these elections. They show on the screen 12 people who, according to the project leaders, have glorified Russia the most with their deeds, and whose name will be identical to the name of Russia. It’s unclear how a person’s name can be identical to the name of a state. But perhaps there is some wise intent here that we mere mortals do not understand. But that’s not the point. I was struck by the fact that among the 12 truly worthy sons of Russia, there is Stalin, and he is in the honorable third place. After the XXth Congress of the CPSU, after the 1990s, when a huge number of documents were published about the mass repressions carried out by Stalin against our people, he occupies the third place out of 12 selected to determine the best of the best.

If we consider that the generation of Russians under 40 years old does not know who Stalin is and is unlikely to have voted for Stalin, it turns out that only the older generation over 60 and 70 years old could vote for Stalin. This is what I cannot understand, why? Why does a certain part of the older generation still feel nostalgic about the years of Stalin’s rule? And I know what those years were like not from stories or books. As an ordinary Soviet citizen, I experienced all the “delights of a happy childhood” given to us children of the Stalin era.

It should be said that, unfortunately, often the mass media does not provide objective information about the years of Soviet power, especially about the time when Stalin ruled the country. Here either the repressions, the year 1937, or Stalin’s five-year plans, the victory in the Great Patriotic War are mentioned. But very little is said about how workers and peasants lived and worked in a country where supposedly power belonged to the workers and peasants. I grew up in a working-class district of Tbilisi, so I saw with my own eyes how the “heroic” working class lived. And this class lived in absolute poverty and in constant fear of arrest. Workers were tied to the factory like serfs in their time. A worker did not have the right to resign from the factory or move to another job at will.

In case of being late for work by just 5 minutes, the first time there would be an administrative penalty, and upon repeated lateness, one would be subject to criminal liability. If the factory did not meet the production plan within the specified time, the director and chief engineer were subject to criminal liability. And in those years, such prosecution for such a category often ended in execution.

Workers mainly lived on the outskirts of the city. Back then, there were many small houses in Tbilisi where workers huddled with their families. All conveniences were outside. Our working class could not even dream of such things as an entrance hall, kitchen, bathroom, toilet. A radio point in our shack appeared only around 1948.

Every summer we went to the village to visit my father’s relatives. He himself was arrested in 1930 and exiled for 7 years to Central Asia. And we went to the village to get a little nourishment. For the summer period.

I spent practically every summer in the village until I was drafted into the Soviet army. I worked in the collective farm, earning workdays. Therefore, I know firsthand what a collective farm is and what village life was like in Soviet times. Collective farmers worked in the collective farm six days a week. Everything that the collective farmers created with their backbreaking labor for pennies was handed over to the state. In addition, each collective farmer had to hand over to the state meat, butter, wool, and other agricultural products. Almost every chicken was taxed on the number of eggs to be handed over to the state. The collective farm in our village was organized in 1937. I remember well that before 1937, the village was full of all kinds of livestock, cows and horses, and in the mountains, you can’t do without horses, sheep, pigs. No one even counted chickens and turkeys.

No one even counted chickens and turkeys. With the formation of the collective farm, the situation in the village worsened every year, and eventually, by 1972, the village disappeared. The youth left, and the elderly went where it’s known. In Stalin’s times, work in the collective farm was not considered state labor, and no pension was given. You couldn’t leave the village; they wouldn’t give you a passport. Isn’t this just like serfdom?

One could talk at length about our “happy” life under Stalin, but let’s stop here. The question is, why does the generation that experienced all the “delights” of Stalin’s “socialism” vote for Stalin again and feel nostalgic for those hardest times? I think the reason should be sought in the political environment that existed in the 1930s and 1940s in the Soviet Union. The 1930s were very interesting years for our country. They were years of incredible labor feats of the Soviet people. They were years of terrible repressions and years of deification of Stalin. Years of creating giants of the national economy and universal fear of the NKVD. It was during these years that the slogan “dictatorship of the proletariat” actually turned into the dictatorship of one man, and the fate of hundreds of thousands of people, the fate of the state, depended on his desire or lack thereof. We, the children of the 1930s, grew up convinced that Stalin cared about us, about the children. We were convinced that Stalin was a genius, the greatest scientist. Stalin was smarter than everyone. Books, mass media, poets, writers, scientists, composers of world fame, enthusiastically praised the wisest, the most outstanding leader of the first worker-peasant state in the world. And how could we, children, not yet firm in our worldview, not believe this massive ideological press?

“About wise Stalin, Dear and beloved, A beautiful song Is composed by the people.” Composer Vano Muradeli, cantata about Stalin. I’m not even talking about the films: “Lenin in October,” “Lenin in 1918,” “The Unforgettable 1919,” and the most disgusting in terms of this apologia for Stalin, the film “The Fall of Berlin.” All this together could not but affect our brains, our worldview. And the fact that today the generation of my age votes for Stalin is the result of ideological influence on the generation of the 30s and 40s. But history teaches us nothing. We again create idols for ourselves in the form of Putin or the party “United Russia.” They are the benefactors of the country, and only they do everything good for the country. There used to be the Communist Party, and now there is United Russia, nothing new, a repetition of the past. One should not exert ideological pressure on the younger generation. They must figure out for themselves who is who and what is what.

Yes, Stalin was the leader of the country during the war. Under his leadership, we won the victory. Honor and glory to him for that. But it was his political miscalculation, the wrong assessment of the military-political situation in Europe, that put our army, our country, in a catastrophic position. And for this miscalculation, we paid with millions of lives of Soviet people and the loss of a huge part of our lands. Yes, we won the victory, but has anyone analyzed how many millions of our soldiers died in this war completely in vain due to the inept leadership of the troops, especially in the first years of the war? We say that in this war we won thanks to the mass heroism of Soviet people. I agree, but why did our soldiers need to show mass heroism? Simply, the soldiers with their mass heroism corrected the stupid and illiterate decisions of the commanders and personally Comrade Stalin. Those who vote for Stalin today do not remember this. Perhaps what I am about to say will be a bit harsh, but I will say that we drowned the German army in the blood of our soldiers, our people, and that’s how we won.

Therefore, when I hear the triumphant speeches on May 9th about our victory, including from the war participants, I feel uneasy and have no desire to glorify Stalin. I always think of the millions who died in vain in that war, who might have lived if our government and Stalin himself had respected and cared for the preservation of Soviet people. Yes, Stalin did a lot for the strengthening and development of the Soviet state. Stalin’s contribution to the victory over Nazi Germany is significant, but he is also to blame for the needless deaths of tens of millions of Soviet people. Therefore, it is unlikely that the name Stalin is equivalent to the name RUSSIA.

Retired Colonel, Historian Sh. A. Chigoev

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/14589368

The president of the country has issued a directive to create a standardized history textbook for schools as soon as possible. That is, to teach the history of the country not as anyone wishes, but solely based on historical documents and facts. The President's decision is correct and somewhat overdue. Creating such a textbook, where the country's past is viewed from a single perspective, is not a simple task. Our so-called patriots and unfortunate scholars have already managed to sufficiently defile and desecrate the country's history and its historical figures over the last 20 years. Some of them have even suggested that the period from 1917 to 1991 should be completely discarded from Russian history. Honestly, I cannot imagine how they intend to do this. I lived under Soviet rule for 61 years, so I know about it not by hearsay. In this brief work, I do not aim to praise or denigrate the Soviet period of my life. I can only say that this is the history of my Motherland, and if there was something good, it pleases me, and I am proud of this good. And the bad, which also existed, I perceive with pain in my heart and worry about it. I am a historian by education, and my education, my long life, gives me the basis to say that in the history of humanity there has not yet been a socio-political system that satisfied all layers of society, and it seems to me that it is generally impossible to create such a system. And the Soviet management system had many negative qualities. Much has already been said about this. Of course, there was "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" and there was the mass enthusiasm of the builders of socialism. There were also mass repressions and the creation of the country's industrial base, without which victory in the Great Patriotic War would have been impossible. There was the cult of personality and the victory in the Great Patriotic War. There was a breakthrough into space. A nuclear shield was created that reliably protected and still protects from possible aggression, from a potential enemy. And the fact that such plans were hatched and are still being hatched now, I know this as a military man who served throughout the so-called "Cold War" in the Soviet Army, in the country's air defense forces, and as a participant in the "Caribbean Crisis." I repeat that I do not intend to blacken or exalt the Soviet socio-political system. But, as a historian, I ask questions for which I have not yet received a sensible answer from modern scientists, political scientists, a historically substantiated answer. For example, after the overthrow of tsarism in Russia, was there another political force that could have preserved Russia within the borders of the Russian Empire, other than the Bolsheviks? And if there was, what prevented them from doing so?

If we had not created a powerful industrial base at the cost of extreme human and material resources, how would we have defended the freedom and independence of our Motherland? And all this was built only relying on internal resources. The Soviet country could not count on any investments from other countries. At that time, the country did not spend hundreds of billions of dollars on completely unnecessary pompous events for the people as it does today.

And yet another question. If, during the Great Patriotic War, the country had been led by Bukharin, Zinoviev, Trotsky, Kamenev, Yeltsin, Khrushchev, Gorbachev, Brezhnev, could we have won the war?

I would like Stalin's activities to be evaluated based on the answers to these questions. By the way, until the beginning of the 1930s, Stalin did not possess very great power. Against the party's course on industrialization, collectivization of agriculture, on the course of building socialism in one separate country, Stalin encountered fierce resistance from oppositionists who had serious influence in the party. So, until the beginning of the 1930s, there was no hint of a cult of personality. Then yes. My generation remembers well how they glorified and what praises they sang to Stalin. And it was. It was also that for any carelessly spoken word, one could end up in places not so remote. But does this mean that all those who were repressed in those years were innocent lambs? Not at all. The country was surrounded by deadly enemies. By the way, some neighbors are not very friendly towards us even now. Inside the country, there were indeed quite powerful forces inflicting real tangible harm to the political and economic strengthening of our state. One just needs to read history more carefully. Now there are very many historians, political scientists, who call Stalin with all sorts of expressions. But, this same Stalin was enthusiastically praised by their grandfathers, great-grandfathers, grandmothers, great-grandmothers. Should they also be scolded? After all, they created the cult of personality! They created films, literary, political, artistic, musical works praising Stalin. Well, it wasn't Stalin alone who praised himself. And one more thing, when today "very brave" people call him a criminal, equating him with Hitler, I want to ask them, what about those people who proudly wear images of this "criminal" on their chests? I mean the millions, tens of millions of Soviet people who proudly wear medals received in battles for the Motherland, for the people? What about them? Perhaps these too "brave" people, who so "bravely" kick a dead lion, should also think about this. Probably few people know that it was Stalin who returned the Kuril Islands, Port Arthur \in China\, Porkkala-Udd to Russia. Stalin cut off East Prussia, the Kaliningrad region from Germany, and for some reason, our historians are silent about this question. And finally, let's look at what Stalin left to his children and what Yeltsin left to his heirs? As they say, a big difference. Stalin didn't even have his own apartment. And we see how the modern rulers of Russia live. In general, it is not worth giving blanket assessments of the activities of any historical figure. For example, I largely agree with the assessment of Stalin by the historian Roy Medvedev. His assessments of Stalin's activities are based on serious and deep research into his activities.

In the planned history textbook, it will be quite difficult to cover Stalin's activities. This includes the year 1937 and relations with Germany, the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, and so on. I remember very well how much criticism and noise there was about the "Molotov-Ribbentrop" pact. I would ask these critics one question. What would have happened to us if we had not pushed the border westward by an average of 150 km, and Germany had started its sudden offensive closer to Moscow by 150 km? It will also be no less difficult to cover interethnic relations. In other words, compiling a history textbook of Russia, a textbook that would satisfy all layers of our society, is quite difficult. Perhaps our historians, political scientists, journalists in the mass media should express their thoughts, their vision of the history textbook, and try to find the most acceptable version of the textbook. In any case, one should not paint everything only in black. We are talking about the history of our people. About our distant and close ancestors. And they deserve that we respect them and are proud of their deeds. And we must live and work so that our children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren respect and are proud of us. In this regard, I would like to dwell on one more event. Since 2009, at the request of Solzhenitsyn's widow, the Brief Course "The Gulag Archipelago" has been introduced in schools as a history textbook of Russia. Well, what can I say, everything that was written there is correct, and people should know about it. But, is this book worthy of the title History of Russia? As a historian, I think not. This book presents history in a one-sided way.

Prisons and camps do not define the history of a people. History, in my understanding, is primarily the activity of the entire nation, the struggle of the people to improve life, the struggle for a better fate for descendants. History should also tell about the bright side of the people's life. If our entire history is presented only in such a gloomy, black tone and does not show how the people moved forward, then no descendants will respect us and be proud of the history of the Motherland. And finally, I would like to say that maybe it's enough to dig into the era of socialism and pay attention to the present day. Socialism will never return to our country, but correcting what was done to us in the wild nineties is perhaps a more relevant task. Unfortunately, capitalism has not yet brought the desired results for the people, for the country. We have not yet investigated and eliminated the causes of the widespread impoverishment of a huge part of our population. The main causes of the fratricidal war in Chechnya have not been investigated, and those who dropped aviation bombs, artillery shells on the heads of completely innocent people have not been punished. Why is this part of our history not disclosed, why? While the real conditions for the repetition of such a tragedy are preserved. And Stalin, it seems to me, it's time to leave him alone. It's time to solve the tasks that really stand before us. The most important quality of a history textbook, in my opinion, is the utmost possible objectivity, the absence of which our textbooks suffer. I wanted to end this small work here but was forced to stop on one more question. Recently, in socio-political literature, there has been a course on the glorification of the Romanov dynasty. How white and fluffy they are. I do not dispute that they were indeed literate, educated people. They could even speak French. And German was their native language. But this is not what a statesman, especially an autocrat, is valued for. I will not make a deep analysis of their activities. I will only say that where people live well, there is no revolution. There is no mass destruction of each other. And as for the moral image of the Romanov dynasty, it is enough to remember the fate of Emperor Ivan VI, his mother, and his sisters. One can recall how wives strangled and killed husbands and sons killed fathers, also emperors. So whose cow would moo... And there is no need to show tsarism to posterity in such bright tones. And the fact that today Russia is lagging behind Europe is also the merit of their "wonderful" rule.

Sh. A. Chigoev, Historian

The end of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st century are full of events that could have severe consequences for the peoples of the former Soviet Union. Undoubtedly, the collapse of the Soviet Union was a tragedy for tens of millions of people who had to radically change their usual living conditions, become refugees, victims of national conflicts, and lose loved ones and relatives. I will not discuss whether the collapse of such a huge and powerful country was objectively conditioned. I don't know, maybe the union republics needed to become independent. After all, they had the right to do so. But why couldn't it be done civilly, culturally, maintaining the honor and dignity of the peoples, respecting each other? After all, we built this country together, with great effort. We shed blood together, defending the country and bringing liberation from fascism to the peoples of Eastern Europe. There is not a single nationality, not a single people who lived in the former Soviet countries whose sons did not lie on the battlefield defending the honor and dignity of our Motherland. Respecting the blood shed together by the older generation of our peoples, it was necessary to preserve friendship and mutual respect among the citizens of the former great country. But where has the friendship of the peoples of the USSR gone, the source of our victories and power? Why today, instead of the friendship of peoples, is there national discord, enmity, hatred, bloody conflicts? In the worst nightmare, a normal Soviet person could not have imagined a time when a Georgian would shoot at a Russian and vice versa! That Slavic brothers, Ukrainians, would shoot down Russian planes over the Caucasus with missiles. I'm not even talking about the Georgian-Ossetian conflict. Where did all this come from? How did we get to the point where in Georgia, in Tbilisi, they created a museum of Russian occupation of Georgia! It turns out Russia occupied Georgia for 200 years. This does not fit in my head. I am Ossetian, grew up in Tbilisi. I finished a Georgian school and then a university in Tbilisi, the faculty of history. Well, as a historian, I still read and know the conditions under which Georgia joined Russia. Who was the initiator of this act. I would still recommend those who organized this so-called museum to reread the history of Georgia and especially carefully consider the position of Georgia in the second half of the 18th century. It would not be amiss for these "patriots" to remember what happened in Tbilisi in 1795 and what Aga Mohammad Khan did there and in what position the whole of Eastern Georgia was. Tbilisi was burned and destroyed. The same fate befell the whole of Eastern Georgia. King Erekle II hid in the mountains. It would not be superfluous for these gentlemen to remember who saved Georgia from complete destruction by the wild horde of Omar Khan in 1800. A small Russian army under the command of General Lazarev completely defeated Omar Khan's 20,000-strong detachment heading for the destruction of Tbilisi. In 1803, the queen of Georgia stabbed General Lazarev, the savior of Georgia, with a dagger. Maybe these patriots will remember who shed blood so that the beautiful region of Adjara returned to Georgia. Maybe the Americans, whom the Georgian elite now loves so much? No, it was the Russian soldier who returned Adjara to Georgia. I had to serve in Adjara. A very interesting fact, the surnames of the Adjarians are Georgian and the names are Muslim. The population is half Christian and half Muslim. So, if Russia had not taken Georgia under its protectorate, it is unlikely that Georgia would have remained Georgia. Those who govern the country need to know at least the history of this country and make the right conclusions from history. Of course, it cannot be said that everything went smoothly and without any excesses... There were those dissatisfied with the transition to subordination to tsarist Russia. Without pain, such a complex process could not have passed. But the main thing was done, the people with a rich culture that gave the world Shota Rustaveli, Jacob Tsurtaveli, Sulhan Saba Orbeliani, Akaki Tsereteli, Vakhtang Chabukiani, and generally made a worthy contribution to world culture, were preserved.

As for the "occupation" of Georgia by Russia. Our country, unfortunately, knows too well what occupation is. Therefore, to throw such terms at Russia is both offensive to Russia and shows that the person using such a term has never experienced what occupation is. In addition, he absolutely does not know the history of Russia. Russia, throughout its existence, has never occupied any country. But Russia has had to liberate other countries from foreign occupation more than once.

Being an officer of the Soviet Army, I had to visit different parts of our vast country and saw with my own eyes where and how our Soviet people live. I served in Tiksi, Krasnoyarsk, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and so on. I remember very well that in Krasnoyarsk, Novosibirsk, by the end of the 60s, it was quite difficult with meat products. Since 1970, I served in the Moscow region and saw how the whole of central Russia went to Moscow for meat products. Once on service, I went to Borovskoye, Kaluga region. I went into a store and there was one sprat in tomato sauce. That's all the food products. At that time, I regularly went on vacation to relatives in Tbilisi every year. A completely different picture, as many meat products as you want. At the same time, for a Georgian in Tbilisi, buying frozen meat was considered bad form. Meat only fresh and from Russia. After all, Georgia has never provided itself with food. Meat, dairy products, cereals, everything from Russia. Amazing! What kind of "occupiers" are those who take away from their population and send to the "occupied"? It would be nice to have more such "occupiers". Now there are no "occupiers" there. Others came, "kind uncles" Americans. What do we see? My relatives, pensioners, have a pension of 75-80 lari. That's about 35-40 dollars. A kilogram of meat is 13-14 lari. Undoubtedly, one thing is certain that in Soviet times, Georgians, especially Georgian peasants, lived 10 times better and richer than a peasant from the Tambov region. In 1989, I had to be at a wedding in the family of a Georgian peasant. Hardly any Russian peasant would have covered such a table.

And still, where does such malice and enmity towards everything Russian in Georgia come from, and unfortunately, practice shows that not only in Georgia? One of the main reasons for such a state of affairs, in my opinion, lies in the fact that during the Soviet era, not enough attention was paid to the national question. We convinced ourselves too strongly that we have an unbreakable friendship of peoples. We stopped thinking that each people possesses some special qualities inherent only to this people, developed by the history of this people. We generally began to say that in the era of "developed socialism," the national question lost its relevance. We are all Soviet people, and our nationality is one—Soviet. That's the absurdity we reached in our patriotic slogans and political reports, speeches. And in reality, this political blindness in national issues had severe consequences. I give an example from Georgia. In February 1956, the famous 20th Congress of the CPSU took place, where Khrushchev denounced the cult of personality of Stalin, March 5, practically immediately after the congress, the day of Stalin's death. The Central Committee of the CPSU, without much thought, sent instructions to all republics that the population was prohibited from visiting Stalin's monuments on the day of his death and laying flowers. Such an instruction was sent to all educational institutions, enterprises, and institutions in Georgia. It would be hard to come up with a more foolish and more provocative instruction for Georgia. Well, somewhere in the Vologda region, such a document could be perceived more or less neutrally, but to send such a document to Georgia was equivalent to the explosion of an atomic bomb.

I don't know, maybe no one even intended to visit Stalin's monument on the day of his death, but this document caused an uproar in Georgia, in Tbilisi. On March 5th, the entire population of Tbilisi, young and old, with flowers and wreaths, headed to Stalin's monument on the banks of the Kura River. An impromptu rally formed. Banners with anti-Russian and anti-Soviet slogans appeared. The crowd surged up Rustaveli Avenue to take over the central telegraph and radio. From among the activists of the rally, a "Business Committee" was formed. At the rally, the "Business Committee" proclaimed its main demands to the Soviet Government:

1. Abolish the Communist Party of Georgia
2. Georgia withdraws from the Soviet Union
3. Withdraw Soviet Armed Forces from the territory of Georgia
4. Georgia becomes an allied state with Turkey
5. Georgia joins NATO.

They say the Kura River turned red from these demands. My Georgian friends told me all about this when I came for a regular vacation in 1956 and advised me not to walk around in military uniform. One of the active members of this "Business Committee" was the son of the famous Georgian writer Konstantin Gamsakhurdia, 17-year-old Zviad Gamsakhurdia. A man who pathologically hated everything Soviet, Russian, and Ossetian. In the 60s, he became a human rights activist, which at that time was synonymous with anti-Sovietism. In the 70s, for active anti-Soviet activities, he was imprisoned but released early under pressure from the Georgian creative community. I listened to his speech on central television where he admitted his political delusions and promised that he would no longer engage in anti-Soviet activities. The wolf swore it would not drag sheep anymore. In April 1989, it was he who organized an anti-Soviet rally in Tbilisi. When the rally was dispersed, the participants trampled 18 women, and then a commission led by the "democrat" Sobchak blamed our soldiers for this tragedy. I served in our army for 31 years, and I know our soldiers. I will never believe that our soldier could beat a woman with a shovel. If they were to hit, they would hit those who attacked them and mocked them. But the soldiers did not respond to the provocative antics of the Georgians. In August 1989, I went to Tbilisi to visit relatives. Having some free time, I decided to take a walk around Tbilisi. Near Rustaveli Avenue, there is a small park. The entire park was plastered with "dazibao" in the Georgian language. When I started reading these proclamations, my hair stood on end. I am a political officer by profession, and the goals and tasks of those who composed and pasted these papers were quite clear to me. But I was surprised that these anti-Soviet, anti-Russian papers were hanging so freely all over Tbilisi, and no one was removing them. And what about the papers? I read the Georgian press. The entire press, both official and tabloid, was thoroughly imbued with an anti-Soviet and anti-Russian spirit. And yet, there was still Soviet power and the Soviet Union! The fact is that by 1989, all actual power in Georgia was in the hands of Zviad Gamsakhurdia. Officially, he did not hold any state position, but all state bodies carried out his orders. And his main task, as we have already seen in 1956, was to tear Georgia away from Russia, to withdraw from the Soviet Union. All anti-Soviet and anti-Russian propaganda in the press was built on a false, perverted presentation of the events of April 9th, the organizer of which was he himself. Using the fact of the death of 18 women during the dispersal of the rally on April 9th, Gamsakhurdia organized an election campaign and in 1990 became the first president of the long-suffering Georgia. He became president, but besides cursing everything Soviet, he was not able to do anything else. It so happened that in 1990 and 1991, my wife and I went to Tskhaltubo for the waters, and I had the opportunity to observe the political events in Georgia. Well, who was Gamsakhurdia? A philologist. Did he know anything about how to govern a state, especially in such a difficult period? Of course not. Did he have a justified economic program for further developing Georgia? No. And he replaced his illiteracy in state management issues with "patriotic" slogans. Someone said that patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels. This was precisely the case. Hitler, having come to power, declared Jews a second-class people after two years. Gamsakhurdia did not wait so long. He immediately divided the population of Georgia into those deprived of any civil and political rights. Russians and Ossetians were the first to fall into the category of "non-Georgians." Upon ascending to the throne, Gamsakhurdia first abolished the South Ossetian Autonomous Region by his decree in 1990, still under Soviet power. Already in November 1989, Gamsakhurdia organized a march of Georgian nationalists on Tskhinvali with 50,000 people. In front of the city, they were blocked by units of the Soviet Armed Forces and Ossetian militia. They were not let through. It is even scary to imagine what would have happened in Tskhinvali if a 50,000-strong frenzied crowd of fanatics had entered the city, the entire population of which barely reached 40,000 at the time. I have a document in my hands. This document was born when the crowd of Georgian fanatics could not break through to Tskhinvali. The document is called: "Appeal of the National Security Staff of Georgia to the Ossetians living in Tskhinvali." Naturally, it was signed by Gamsakhurdia. It would be hard to compose something more disgusting and offensive to the Ossetian people than this "appeal." The trouble is that this ideology of Georgian fascism, expressed in this appeal, finds quite broad support among the ruling elite of Georgia and gradually begins to penetrate all layers of Georgian society. I will allow myself to quote an excerpt from this "appeal..." to the Ossetians, residents of Tskhinvali. "You should appreciate the kindness of the Georgians. You do not live in Ossetia but in Shida Kartli. There is only one Ossetia in the world, and it is located beyond the Caucasian ridge. Do not believe the illusions created by the Bolsheviks that there is a so-called South Ossetian Autonomous Region. Look ahead, assess your future. Live today so that you have the right to live in Shida Kartli tomorrow. You must condemn and expel Ossetian separatists from Georgia, abolish 'Adamon Nykhas.' Why do you need this organization that supposedly protects you from Georgians? Have Georgians ever offended you? On the contrary, you have repeatedly had the audacity to try to offend Georgians, but in the end, you were punished, and quite rightly so. Remember history and be convinced that the audacity of Ossetians in Georgia has always ended tragically for Ossetians. And now it will be the same because we Georgians have always been right before you, and now we are right, and therefore God is with us."

What can one say here, a conversation of a lord with a serf. If you don't behave as I want, I will whip and expel you. This happened when there was still Soviet power, and Georgia was part of the Soviet Union. What happened to Ossetia after the collapse of the Soviet Union and what is happening now, we have seen and are seeing. If not for Great Russia, there simply would be no South Ossetia. Let's remember August 2008, and that says it all.

Perhaps I dwelled in detail on the events in Georgia, in South Ossetia. I wanted to show what happens to peoples when a state does not have a proper national policy. Why have some former union republics become so unfriendly towards Russia? In my view, primarily because they identify Soviet power with Russia and attribute all the sins of Soviet power to Russia. But no one bothers to say that this is not the case. Has anyone analyzed the damage Soviet power specifically inflicted on Russia? No. Has anyone thought about how difficult it was to feed a number of republics almost for free? Of course not. And how much effort has Russia put into the economic, industrial, and cultural development of the union republics? There is no answer. Our scientists, historians, economists, and political scientists should analyze the enormous contribution Russia has made to the development and preservation of the peoples living in the territory of the former Russian Empire. Maybe then, in these republics, there will not be a museum of Russian occupation but a museum of how Russia helped them live and develop. By the way, isn't it time to organize a museum in Russian cities about how Russia helped the peoples of the Soviet Union! Perhaps it is necessary to introduce special programs on central television channels that objectively cover the history of the peoples of the former USSR and their relationship with Russia. We are indeed at a dangerous juncture now. Through the efforts of short-sighted politicians, or rather those hostile to Russia, historical ties between Russia and the peoples for whom Russia was a friendly and fraternal country are being destroyed.

To be fair, it must also be said that sometimes the leaders of our country also behave, to put it mildly, not quite competently and not quite respectfully towards the leaders of other peoples, and we get the corresponding result. I remember very well how many times Dudayev appealed to Yeltsin to invite Dudayev for negotiations. The Chechen people were not for leaving the Russian Federation. If respectful treatment had been shown to the leadership of Chechnya, the Chechen people, there would not have been this bloody war. There would not have been hundreds of thousands of victims and terrible destruction. And yet, we elected Yeltsin as president again. And during his first presidential term, he drank and squandered the country under the influence, and during the second term, he was treated while the country was left to fate.

We are still pursuing the wrong policy with our neighbors. Well, we have cut off all ties with Georgia! To whom have we given Georgia? America? Western Europe? That's exactly what they need. But we should give every opportunity for the Georgian peasant to sell his goods in our market. We need to create as many joint ventures as possible. Let diplomats wage their war, but peoples should communicate with each other. Then our influence will increase. The task of diplomacy is to turn enemies into friends, but we do the opposite. The danger is that the younger generation of our neighbors is being raised in a spirit of enmity and hatred towards us, towards Russia. What fruits such upbringing will yield in 50 or 100 years can only be guessed. The current leaders of the countries of the former Soviet Union must think about this. Yes, we are now experiencing a very responsible and dangerous historical juncture. While those who created a great and powerful country with their labor are still alive. While those who defended our great Motherland in a bloody fight against fascism are still alive, while the memory of those who defended the freedom and independence of a great country at the cost of their lives is still alive, there is still a chance to revive and strengthen friendship between the republics of the former Soviet Union. And if we miss this opportunity now, I fear that Russia will find itself surrounded not just by unfriendly countries! And the symptoms are there: the Baltics, Moldova, Georgia, some republics of Central Asia, and even our allied country Belarus are not very satisfied with us. Unfortunately, we do not attach importance to the fact that in some former union republics, youth are being raised in the spirit of fascism, chauvinism. They will come to govern their countries tomorrow. Tomorrow they will be the defense ministers of their republics, and where they will direct the barrels of their guns with such upbringing is a big question. All this personally causes me serious concern. I personally will not live to see such a situation, but I have grandchildren. Great-grandchildren, and with what neighbors they will have to live, that is what concerns me.

Retired Colonel Chigoev, Sh.A.

I have already mentioned that on weekends, we, the officers of the regiment’s management, would go to the beach for relaxation. The Cubans were also there relaxing. Relaxation is relaxation, and we drank beer, and perhaps someone left empty beer bottles behind. Whether it was our officers or the Cubans who left them, no one really checked.

At the next party meeting, the agenda was quite serious: “The tasks of the regiment’s communists in providing international assistance to Cuban comrades in mastering combat technology.” According to the agenda, the discussion was supposed to focus on how the training of the Cubans on our combat equipment was going in various party organizations. The speaker was the head of the regiment’s political department, Communist Gevorkyan. Given the importance of the agenda, the head of the division’s political department, Colonel Danilevich G.R., was also present. The agenda was supposed to address how we train the Cubans, where it’s going well, where it’s not, and what needs to be done to improve the training process. But the issue had to be understood. Instead, the speaker, after general phrases about the importance of fulfilling the international task of training the Cubans, launched a devastating critique of our officers. The main point of this so-called report was that the Cubans are more cultured and conscious than our officers because they do not leave beer bottles on the beach. Of course, there is no dispute that one should not leave bottles on the beach; it’s bad. But it’s hardly at the level of beer bottles that the culture of a people is determined.

When my superior finished his speech, I asked to speak. I started by saying that the head of the political department was obliged to coordinate his report with us, the workers of the political department, since his report was made on behalf of the political department. He did not coordinate the report with us, the workers of the political department, and therefore he was only expressing his own understanding of the situation. As a communist, I cannot agree that our Soviet person is less cultured, less educated than a Cuban. We, members of the most advanced party in the world, who came to Cuba to fulfill our international duty, we, representatives of the world’s first socialist state, are some kind of barbarians compared to the Cubans, who only yesterday were freed from American imperialism. My speech was like thunder out of a clear sky. The comrade speaker had nothing to say in response.

After the meeting, the head of the division’s political department, along with my superior, came to my tent. I think that Colonel Danilevich, understanding my state, did not summon me to his office but came to me. I fully understood that to a certain extent, I had been hot-headed. But people were already wound up by the uncertainty of our situation, had been away from their families for a long time, and did not know when they would return to their families, having just experienced one of the sharpest crises in human history. And at the same time, they were being criticized for leaving beer bottles on the beach; it’s not good, but that was not the main issue according to the party meeting’s agenda. The head of the division’s political department agreed with some points of my speech and expressed the thought that I should have said all this to my superior one-on-one, not at the meeting. From this, one could guess how the chief began to treat me, but honestly, I was not afraid of that.

Several years later, he did get his revenge. After returning from Cuba, I ended up in Baku in a regiment that was directly subordinate to the district. And this grey mediocrity, also after Cuba, ended up in the Baku Air Defense District as an inspector of the political administration of the district. So, he came to check my work in the summer of 1966. The outcome was known in advance. He couldn’t really bite me, as my superiors saw my work. Unfortunately, there were too many like Gevorkyan in political worker positions. But that’s a topic for another discussion.

In the summer of 1963, officers who had certain reasons could submit a report requesting to return to the Union. On the one hand, I didn’t want to leave Cuba. Here I started my service as a regimental propagandist, which was very interesting to me. My work here was in high demand. Here I made friends with many officers. Here I had many interesting encounters. I felt that here we were at the peak of contemporary historical events. Besides, I served near the city of Santiago. The city of Santiago is as significant to Cuba as Leningrad, now St. Petersburg, is to us. On July 26, 1953, it was here in Santiago de Cuba, territorio libre de América, that Fidel Castro and his associates began their uprising against the Batista regime. Fidel, with his squad, attacked the Moncada barracks early in the morning on July 26. He wanted the soldiers quartered in the Moncada barracks to join the rebels, but it didn’t happen. Fidel and his supporters fled to the Sierra Maestra mountains. Fidel was arrested and sent to the Isle of Pines, which is somewhat similar to our Siberia. In 1955, under public pressure, Batista was forced to release Fidel and his associates. Fidel and his comrades emigrated to Mexico. There in Mexico, Fidel organized military training with the help of a Mexican general. It was also there that he met a 25-year-old Argentine, Che Guevara, who became his close friend and associate. In 1957, the entire small band of rebels, numbering 82 people, boarded the leisure yacht “Granma,” which could normally accommodate 12 people, and headed for the shores of Cuba. The yacht “Granma” was heading for the shores of the “Oriente” province. On the day of the rebels’ landing in the city of Santiago, one of Fidel Castro’s associates, Frank País, was supposed to organize a demonstration to distract the attention of the coast guard and ensure the safe landing of Fidel’s squad. But due to a storm at sea and the fact that the overloaded yacht could not maneuver freely, the yacht could not arrive at the agreed time. The yacht arrived on the shores of Cuba several days after the agreed time. Frank País’s demonstration was suppressed. The coast guard prepared to meet the yacht “Granma.” And of the 82 members of Fidel’s squad, only 12 people broke through to the Sierra Maestra mountains. The 12 barbudos. The 12 bearded ones. It is said that Fidel vowed not to shave his beard until complete victory. So he remained bearded.

The guerrilla war against the Batista regime began in the Sierra Maestra mountains in 1957. On January 1, 1959, Fidel’s troops entered Havana. Batista fled. Initially, America did not pay attention to another “scuffle” in Latin America. There are about ten such “scuffles” in Latin America every year. But when Fidel began to nationalize large capital, including American capital, they started to stir. At first, they wanted to buy Fidel, as they now buy some leaders from the CIS countries. Fidel did not sell out. Then America imposed an economic blockade on Cuba, and only timely assistance from the Soviet Union saved the Cuban revolution.

While carrying out the revolution, Fidel was far from Marxism-Leninism. I have already said that the spiritual leader for the progressive youth of Cuba and, of course, for Fidel, was and remains José Martí. Fidel, like all revolutionary idealists, wanted to do good for everyone immediately, but unfortunately, these “good intentions” were mercilessly shattered by harsh reality. Unfortunately, I too have often heard from many “well-wishers” how they love the people and want good for the people. But when they come to power, their concept of “the people” narrows down to their relatives, friends, and necessary people. For this “people,” life indeed becomes good. As for the rest, they are just “ordinary people,” cattle. What to think about them? So, 20-30 million “ordinary people” will die. So what? There are many of them, aren’t there? But the rest, the necessary people, will live well. Even then, in 1962/63, a lot of good was planned for the ordinary people. Something was indeed done, but no fundamental change for the better occurred in the life of the ordinary Cuban people. America also bears some blame for the difficult situation of the Cuban people, as the economic blockade declared against Cuba in 1962 has not been lifted to this day. But no matter how hard America tries, it cannot bring the heroic Cuban people to their knees. Yes, I did not want to leave Cuba, but my wife, children, and studies outweighed, and I decided to return to the Union. Although somewhere, even now, I regret such a decision. Nevertheless, I am proud that in the most difficult days for the wonderful Cuban people, I was with them and was ready to fight for the freedom and independence of Cuba.

“Patria o muerte. Venceremos.” Homeland or death. We will win.

The “Caribbean Crisis” will go down in history as the most dangerous line to which humanity has approached. We were on the brink of the start of a thermonuclear war. The next war would have begun with a club. But no one was held responsible for the fact that, thanks to the adventurous politics of some leaders, the whole world was put on the brink of destruction.

On September 20, 1963, early in the morning, I left the regiment’s location in a cargo truck heading for Havana. A journey across the whole of Cuba lay ahead. I was saying goodbye to this beautiful island. On the second day, all of us leaving the island of freedom boarded the rather comfortable ship “Georgia.” I had no luggage with me, just my military uniform and a few seashells to give to loved ones. We sailed through the northern part of the Atlantic. Near the Azores, we encountered a storm. For the first time in my life, I saw how a huge ocean wave crashed onto the ship up to the very top deck. I showed signs of “seasickness.” A slight nausea. Indeed, many lay in their cabins unable to make it to the dining room. Ordinary mustard helped. It relieved the nausea. On October 8, the ship “Georgia” arrived in Leningrad. We, the military, changed into our uniforms. In Leningrad, we were detained for a few days while paperwork was processed and money was issued. I took this opportunity to visit the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery. And it just so happened that when I entered the cemetery, the local radio station was broadcasting the overture of my favorite opera by Z. Paliashvili, “Daisi,” the evening glow. The tender, sad sound of the clarinet and the thunderous rolls of the orchestra. I myself had lived through the war, and for me, those years were too heavy to say the least. But what I saw and heard at the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery shook me to the core of my soul. Neither Hitler nor Stalin can be forgiven for this.

Having received the money and documents, I left through Moscow to Kapustin Yar, where my wife and children had been waiting for me for over a year.

________________________________________________________________________________ As the final chapter of this journey comes to a close, I hope it has resonated with you as much as it has with me. May the echoes of this tale inspire thoughts and conversations long after the last word is read. Thank you for joining me on this adventure.

The Cuban army, like all other state bodies, was in a nascent state. Cuban soldiers began to arrive at our divisions. Of course, we, the officers of the divisions and the regiment, did not really believe that Cuban soldiers, with their level of general education, could master our combat equipment, but an order is an order, and we began to train them.

Indeed, the Cuban army hardly corresponded to our understanding of an army. There were not enough barracks for all personnel, and 30% of the army slept in hammocks. I once visited the barracks of the Cubans. There was no military order. The place was dirty, the beds were of different calibers, the bedding was poor and not made up, the bedside tables had barn locks, in short, it was not a barracks but a flophouse for the homeless. The soldiers who came to us for training had nothing to sleep on, nothing to eat, no personal hygiene items. All these issues had to be resolved by our division commanders, and soon they were howling, especially about feeding.

According to the norms of sustenance in the Cuban army, soldiers were fed twice a day, in the morning and in the evening. The food was mainly vegetables and fruits. Alternatively, with Soviet money. For comparison, the lowest salary… Of course, such a level of soldiers’ nutrition was not normal for us, and practically we had to feed them. I don’t even know how the regiment’s food service managed to cope with such a task. The Cubans had a rule that a conscript soldier had to be released on leave for one day every four days. Cubans believe that a man, as a rule, should satisfy his male needs every three days. Of course, we agreed with this 100%, but alas, we did not have such opportunities. Our wives were 10,000 km away, and we were not allowed to visit prostitutes for fear of provocation. However, some still managed to “have a fling.” Especially since such an opportunity was widely available. Opposite the seaport, there was an entire block where women of the oldest profession lived, about 2,000 individuals. All this “pleasure” cost 3 pesos. Enjoy if you want. True, I was also encouraged to make such a “feat,” but my “moral face,” as the secretary of the primary party organization of the regiment’s management, did not allow me to take such a step. And, of course, the possibility of various unpleasant consequences.

As long as the situation was extremely tense, everything was in order in terms of military discipline among the personnel. With the easing of the crisis situation between the USSR and the USA, issues of military discipline among the personnel, and especially among the officer corps, came to the fore. To some extent, the officer corps could be understood. Separation from wives, children, prolonged stay in an unfamiliar and tense state, lack of a specific combat mission, and an unclear future, a constant sense of danger that counterrevolutionaries could attack us at any time, all this created a not very healthy moral and psychological climate. What does our person do when she has no specific task but has money? That’s right, she drinks. And there was money. Junior officers received 100 pesos, senior officers 150 pesos. And there was plenty of alcohol in Cuba, including medical alcohol, a liter for 2 pesos. Comments are superfluous.

In our part, I suppose in all parts located in Cuba, an interesting situation has developed. Disciplinary punishment by commanders lost its force. There is no guardhouse, you can’t send an officer to the union, what to do with the offending officer? How to maintain discipline among the officers? And they began to drink, wander around the hot spots of Santiago! And here the punishing hand of the primary party organization comes to the forefront. It must be said that in these conditions, they became the support for the commanders in maintaining discipline among the officer corps. An officer feared party discipline more than anything, especially if it was recorded in his personal file. Such a reprimand was a serious obstacle to further promotion or receiving the next military rank. And I, as the secretary of the party organization, often had to invite certain comrades who respected “Bacardi” \Cuban rum\ too much, and have heart-to-heart conversations with them. Understanding the nervous state we were all in, I tried not to resort to disciplinary actions. But there were various incidents. Once, late at night, the duty officer called me to the command post. Major Sin’ko, completely drunk, with a pistol in his hand, was yelling and screaming that he wanted to shoot the regiment commander. The duty officer and his assistant tried to persuade him to put down the pistol and calm down. He yelled even louder. The main thing was that the pistol in his hand was loaded. In Cuba, we all, the officers, carried personal weapons with us. How to take away the pistol? It was dangerous to approach him. The duty officer did not report to the head of the political department because it would have ended badly for the major. He asked me, as the secretary of the party organization, to influence the communist Sin’ko. I didn’t know what to do. He refused to put down the pistol and continued to scream that he would shoot the regiment commander. Then I decided to go straight to him and take the weapon away. Of course, I was afraid, but I assumed he wouldn’t dare shoot me. I pushed his hand with the pistol aside and took the weapon away. Only after that did I start to shake nervously all over my body and couldn’t calm down for some time. We did not report this to the authorities because the head of the political department would have ordered me to call him to the party bureau and expel him from the party. And that would have threatened the officer with early discharge and no pension.

The reasons for such a nervous breakdown were understandable. People were thrown 10,000 km away from their home, and no one could really say when this nerve-wracking ordeal would end. And the climatic conditions in Cuba are sharply different from those in Russia. In Cuba, there are only two seasons, winter and summer. Winter differs from summer in that there is no rain in winter, while there is rain in summer. Winter is just as hot as summer. Here I saw what a tropical rain is. It’s indescribable. Rain clouds almost hang over your head. And then it’s not just rain. It’s a river pouring from the heavens. And the thunder! It’s like hundreds of cannons firing simultaneously. The climate is very humid for us, residents of the middle, continental belt, and it was somewhat difficult to endure such a climate.

To improve the moral and psychological state, they began to send us distinguished people. Yuri Vlasov, the world champion in weightlifting in the heavyweight category, cosmonaut Popovich, Marshal of the Soviet Union Nikolai Ivanovich Krylov, and others came to us. But the most memorable for me was the visit to our regiment by the artists of the Kiev Grand Theater, including Yuri Gulyaev, Larisa Rudenko, Ogneva, a trio of bandura players, and several other singers. My memory has not preserved… The commander of the unit turned to us. The commander flew with them from Havana. They performed a small concert for us, rested a bit, and then went to Santiago to give a concert. They gave the concert in the city’s largest cinema, “Oriente.” Naturally, they invited us. I could not miss such an opportunity to listen to the singers of the Kiev Grand Theater and went to the concert. The hall was packed to capacity. Cubans, being at any performance or in the cinema, smoke. But here no one smoked. They were asked, and they did not smoke. The success of our singers and artists was dizzying. The hall gave a standing ovation when Gulyaev sang “Preserve Peace” in Spanish. After the concert, we took the artists to our unit and organized a friendly dinner, of course with “Bacardi.” I really liked Larisa Rudenko, the trio of bandura players, and I was simply crazy about Gulyaev. He was not only an incomparable singer but also a very simple, soulful, and charming person. I was very sorry to learn about his death. We lost a wonderful singer and a remarkable person.

Life went on. I traveled to Havana several times on business. In my free time, I walked the streets of Havana. It’s a beautiful city with incomparable architecture. Some buildings are so captivating that it’s impossible to look away. I visited the zoo and was struck by the stillness of the crocodiles. They lay on the shore of the lake without any movement. I was in the center of Havana, where there is a large square where Fidel Castro usually addressed the Cubans. My stay in Havana coincided with a party activity for the group of forces in Cuba. I also participated in this activity. The Chief of the Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy, General A.A. Yepyishev, gave a report. He spoke about the successes of the socialist camp and how the Party and Government care for the Armed Forces in general and particularly about us in Cuba. The speakers sharply criticized the supply organizations of the Soviet Army. It got to the point where there was a shortage of toothbrushes, toothpaste, toilet soap, and more. It may seem trivial, but in the end, our daily life consists of these little things.

While on a business trip in Havana, I met my fellow countryman from South Ossetia, Akhmet Gassiev. Returning from Havana to Santiago, Akhmet invited me and my comrades to his division. He was the division commander. He treated us with Ossetian generosity. I don’t know where he found it in Cuba, but he slaughtered a kid goat for us. Of course, we had a lot to talk about. Akhmet showed me some very interesting photographs where he is pictured with Gagarin near Akhmet’s house in the Saratov region. In another photo, Gagarin is holding Akhmet’s little son. It turns out Gagarin landed in the area where Akhmet’s division was located. No one was there to meet him. Apparently, they did not expect him to land there. After all, until Gagarin’s successful landing, it was not reported anywhere that our man was flying in space. Gagarin emerged from his spacecraft and headed to the nearest houses. And there lived the Gassiev family. Needless to say, the Gassiev family welcomed Gagarin with great warmth. By the way, Gagarin was without a cap, and Akhmet put his own cap on him. Thus, the first person who met the first man to have been in space was the Ossetian Akhmet. Later, a photograph of Yuri Gagarin with Akhmet’s son in his arms appeared in the magazine “Ogonyok.” Akhmet told a rather amusing story about this event. The story of Gagarin’s meeting with Gassiev soon became known throughout South Ossetia. South Ossetian newspapers printed a photograph of Gagarin with Gassiev. Gassiev came to Tskhinvali on leave. Of course, there was a tumultuous meeting with relatives, half of Tskhinvali being his relatives. He felt that there was some particularly solemn attitude towards him and did not understand why. The reason was that the newspapers had printed his photograph with Gagarin. Hence the conclusion, Akhmet was also an astronaut, but it could not be talked about because it was a state secret. And there was a special attitude towards state secrets in Soviet times. That is, everyone knows, but it cannot be talked about. Everyone in Ossetia knows that Akhmet is an astronaut, but it cannot be talked about. The only one who didn’t know he was an astronaut was Gassiev himself. As the leave was coming to an end, Akhmet bought a plane ticket and was supposed to fly to his duty station in Saratov the next day. In the evening, they sat drinking tea with relatives, a whole bunch of them. Akhmet, in all his naivety, says that he is flying out tomorrow. But he does not understand the reaction of the relatives to his desire to “fly out tomorrow.” He doesn’t know that he is an astronaut. Everyone is shocked. One of the godmothers dares to ask in a plaintive voice: “Akhmet ma atyeh ma atyeh.” “Akhmet, don’t fly away, don’t fly away.” Akhmet is puzzled as to why he should not fly away and asks in surprise how he should not fly away and says that he has already taken a ticket. The relatives understood that he wanted to joke. They knew that astronauts fly without tickets. And so, one of the aunts said: “Akhmet, don’t joke.” Everyone understood it as Akhmet flying off to space, but he was hiding it. The truth was, Akhmet himself didn’t know that. When Akhmet told this story, I was dying of laughter, as they say. Such a scene is familiar to me. Ossetians are very proud of their fellow countrymen who defend the homeland.

Probably every person, having reached a certain milestone in life and reflecting on the past, identifies the most significant events. Such a significant event in my life was the “Caribbean Crisis.” The mere fact that I participated in the defense of the Cuban people against American aggression gives me the right to say that I have not lived in vain. I must say that Cuba has left an indelible impression in my memory. And not only because of its amazingly beautiful nature and the wonderful people of the island of freedom. But also because working in extreme conditions shows who a person really is. I want to say that our people are wonderful. Being in a difficult situation in Cuba, it somehow became clearer to me why we defeated Germany. To accomplish the combat mission, our soldiers and officers are ready to overcome any difficulties. There, I befriended many commanders and political workers. But there were also those with whom my views on the behavior of our officers in a rather complex situation diametrically opposed theirs. It was because of such differences in views that I had a conflict with my immediate superior, Gevorkyan.

We needed to distract people from drinking. Every evening, we organized movie screenings. But we had already watched all the films we brought from the Union, and the question arose: where could we find new films? I solved this problem. The fact is that our ships constantly arrived at the port of Santiago. And on the ships, as always, there was a large number of films for the crew. So, I brought them our films that we had already watched and took their films in exchange. Of course, during these exchanges, I took a bottle of local Bacardi rum to facilitate more successful negotiations.

For the November 7th holiday, I asked the ship’s captain to send a congratulatory telegram to my wife, as if I were a member of the ship’s crew, where I informed her of our location using a prearranged code.

Life gradually returned to normal. From mid-December, if my memory serves me right, regular flights began specifically for our troop group. We were allowed to write letters home, with the return address being Moscow-400. Periodical press began to arrive regularly. This greatly facilitated my work. My presentations to the officers, soldiers, and sergeants became more substantive and interesting because I would review all the incoming press before speaking.

In early December, we propagandists were gathered in Havana for a seminar. Employees of the Main Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy, journalists, and several other leaders spoke to us. I remember Genrikh Borovik speaking. He had quite a sharp tongue, and we listened with interest. Most of all, I remember the speech by Colonel Cherepanov from Glavpur. He told us how they worried about us in Glavpur. Everyone was concerned whether we would reach our destination and they stayed glued to the receivers day and night to know how things were going. Colonel Cherepanov informed us that the General Staff was not sure that we would all make it to Cuba. The General Staff had planned that about 25% of the personnel sent to Cuba might end up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. The fact that we all reached our destination pleased Colonel Cherepanov greatly. At that time, I didn’t attach much importance to this “revelation” from Cherepanov. On the contrary, I even mentally praised the General Staff for so well considering the possible losses. Only much later did it dawn on me that the General Staff had planned to feed me to the sharks in the Atlantic Ocean. I remembered the ominous instructions from Marshal Kazakov to the ship’s captain: “in case of a threat of capture by the enemy, do not surrender the cargo.” And the cargo was us, 480 soldiers, sergeants, and officers. Open the kingstons, the crew to the lifeboats, and us, the cargo, to the bottom of the ocean. That’s how boldly, without any responsibility for the lives of tens of thousands of people, the General Staff planned their death. Just like in some collective farm, they planned to write off a certain amount of livestock. Say, for sale. But what’s there to be surprised about?

When did Russia, the Soviet Union, ever care about the lives of soldiers, sergeants, officers? Let’s look at history. Why did the Russian emperors send millions of Russian soldiers to protect the interests of Austria, Prussia, and other countries? How many millions of Russian soldiers fell in the Balkans, the Caucasus, and other countries? And how many millions of people died in both the first and second world wars, thanks to the stupidity and incompetence of our marshals and generals? It’s terrifying to recall the Great Patriotic War, especially the first period of the war. A vivid indicator of the incompetence and stupidity of our “commanders” is Chechnya. When people talk about the mass heroism shown by our people, I always have a question: Whose mass stupidity were they forced to show mass heroism because of? Unfortunately, it is not customary for us to answer such a question. But since we remained alive, let’s continue the story about Cuba. The fact that I served as a propagandist in the political department of the regiment gave me the opportunity to study what Cuba was like at the time of our stay there. I read all the literature about Cuba that was available to me.

The history of Cuba is very interesting. The Cuban people fought tenaciously against slavery. Cuba was the first state in Latin America where slavery was abolished. I read a lot about José Martí, who is a national hero for Cubans. In front of every school in Cuba, there is a monument to José Martí. In the center of Havana, where rallies are held, there is also a huge monument to José Martí. It’s somewhat similar to how we used to erect monuments to Lenin. I also read a lot about the revolutionary activities of Fidel Castro. There is a book called “The Green Lizard.” Cuba indeed resembles a green lizard. The book fascinatingly tells how on July 26, 1953, Fidel Castro and his friends attacked the Moncada Barracks in Santiago de Cuba with the aim of inciting an uprising against the regime of Batista, the then dictator of Cuba. The attempt failed. Soon after, Fidel was arrested and exiled to the Isle of Pines. Under public pressure, he was released two years later and moved to Mexico for more thorough preparation to fight against Batista’s regime. On January 1, 1959, the revolution led by Fidel Castro was victorious.

While in Cuba, I witnessed many interesting events that occurred in the political life of this wonderful island, but unfortunately, I turned to this event too late when the fate of all humanity hung by a thread, when we were too close to the edge of the abyss. There was a desire to keep a diary. Now, a diary of those days would have been of invaluable help to me. But I knew very well the political system I lived in. My records were secretly combed through me repeatedly. Of course, I was a propagandist, and the corresponding authorities closely monitored what I was propagating to the personnel. Much has been forgotten, but some things are still remembered.

So, what was Cuba like by the year 1962? Everything I will write about Cuba will be in relation to the years 1962/63. Cuba is an island state. The length of Cuba is 1100 km. The width at the widest point is 120 km, and at the narrowest, it is 30 km. The population, when we were there, was about 7 million people, 30% of whom were black. The main activity was harvesting sugarcane and producing sugar. Cuba exports sugar, nickel, tobacco, and citrus fruits. In terms of sugar exports, Cuba holds a leading position in the world market. Cuba can supply up to 7 million tons of sugar to the world market when the demand for sugar is 16-20 million tons. In terms of nickel reserves, Cuba ranks second in the world after Canada. Cuba does not have a sufficient amount of energy resources, so it is very dependent on the import of petroleum products. Cuba’s annual need is 4 million tons of oil. During the period of our stay there, the entire life of Cubans depended on the availability of petroleum products. Just 15 days without importing oil, and life in Cuba would come to a standstill. By the way, this is exactly what America was counting on by declaring an economic blockade against Cuba. They believed that Cuba, without petroleum products, would kneel before America, but here the Soviet Union came to Cuba’s aid, and Cuba began to regularly receive the energy resources it needed.

The prolonged dominance of America in Cuba had very serious negative consequences for the social, economic, and cultural position of the country. The people were poorly educated. We saw this at the general education level of preparation of the middle-level commanders of the Cuban army. Without exaggeration, it can be said that their preparation barely corresponded to the preparation of our 3rd or 4th-grade students. Whenever we stopped somewhere, in a populated area, to drink water or buy fruits, a bunch of children immediately surrounded us, insistently asking for cigarettes, money, etc. Rich Americans had accustomed them to such a life. The people lived very poorly. In Santiago, I saw an entire district where houses were constructed from some boxes, barrels, dry palm branches, and people lived there, of course, without any conveniences. But there, in Santiago, was a district of indescribable beauty called Manduley.

Houses of stunning beauty were nestled in greenery. In general, it was a paradise on earth where Americans lived before the revolution. Terrible poverty and magnificent wealth. I saw all this in Cuba in 1962. And now, to see all these “charms” of capitalism, there’s no need to go anywhere. We have all these “charms” here, and even in excess.

I had to visit the divisions of the regiment throughout the eastern province of Cuba. Therefore, I had the opportunity to see how Cubans live. I saw houses made of palm branches. The houses had no furniture, and instead of dishes, there were tin cans. Children were in rags. I saw a 12-year-old boy, completely naked. Of course, Fidel wanted to quickly boost the country’s economy, improve people’s lives, but it’s one thing to want and another to achieve it. Before the revolution, a large part of the Cubans’ income came from tourism, but the revolution brought tourism to a halt. The Soviet Union provided significant assistance in boosting the country’s economy. With the help of the USSR, many facilities necessary for the country’s development were built, but unemployment remained. Therefore, although prostitution was officially banned, it continued to exist semi-legally. Many Cubans living in the eastern province worked at the Guantanamo naval base. For us, it was incomprehensible. How could one work at the naval base of a potential enemy? But unemployment is the whole answer. Nevertheless, Cubans are an optimistic and life-loving people. Like all of Latin America, they love festivals. There are national Cuban festivals and local ones. Every day, a festival takes place in some locality. I managed to attend the July 26th festival in Santiago de Cuba. The spectacle was indescribably beautiful. The festival usually starts around 8 pm. By this time in Cuba, it’s already dark and cool after the day’s heat. The festival lasts until 4-5 am. Everyone is out on the street. Large trucks with dropped sides parade down the city’s central street. The trucks are beautifully decorated. In the middle of the body, there are small stands on which Cuban beauties gracefully stand. Behind the trucks, a large group of women and men, like Indians, aborigines, followed. Orchestras play in all the squares and parks. Cuban and Latin American dance melodies are performed. They are very beautiful and rhythmic. Everywhere meat of pigs is roasted, pies are offered, cold beer is available. There are no drunk people. No conflict situations. No vulgarity, no hooliganism. I once compared how they celebrate holidays and how we do. There’s a colossal difference. Our main task during the holidays is to eat to the point of bursting, to drink until we lose consciousness. Otherwise, it’s not a holiday. Honestly, I envied the Cubans that they know how to celebrate their holidays so beautifully. For the whole year that I was in Cuba, I did not see a single drunk Cuban. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about the representatives of “developed socialism.” Personally, A.I. Mikoyan had to deal with a heavy tragic case when our completely drunk captain in a car ran over and killed the pregnant wife of the chief of the Cuban army’s general staff. As they say, there’s nowhere further to jump. Our senior lieutenant bursts into a meeting of the officers of the Cuban division, of course drunk, insults the division commander, and yells, “We feed you, we protect you.” In Havana, in pharmacies, signs appeared in Russian saying “no alcohol for sale.” The fact is that in Cuba, alcohol is sold in pharmacies for medical purposes, and very cheaply. Not a single sane Cuban could imagine that alcohol could be drunk. Our valiant officers, seeing cheap alcohol, began to snatch alcohol from the pharmacy by the liter, not by the gram as was customary for Cubans. It’s very unpleasant to admit this, but in many ways, we did not set the best example for the Cubans.

Finally, the period of uncertainty about our stay in Cuba ended for us. We were tasked with training the personnel of the Cuban army on our equipment and subsequently transferring our combat equipment to the Cuban army.

To be continued…

cross-posted from: https://lemmy.ml/post/14068665

> Question: When Turk/Ottoman Empire lost the WW I, did it offer Palestinians to move back to the new borders of the Ottoman Empire? > > I was just reading the Wikipedia article above and started to wonder if after losing WW I to England the Ottoman Empire offered Palestinans > (or whatever easy the name of people living in this area at that time) to come to live in the post-WWI Ottoman Empire, and if it was made clear for them that If they didn't they would not have protection from the State. > > My question might be totally misformulated, as I am no expert on the topic. For instance, I guess that "Ottoman Empire" ceased to exist and broke down into one or more smaller State(s)/Country(is). In this case, supposing it became Turkey, I should ask if Turkey offered Palestinians to come to turkey instead of living in a Stateless area with a dangerous power vacuum. Or if the closed State to it was Jordan, if Jordan made the same offer to Palestinians. Or even if England said to Palestinians they could keep living there forever. > > I am getting the impression Palestinians have been constantly cheated by the States which controlled the region and my question will help to know to which extent my suspicion is wrong or not. > > There are probably more implicit errors in my question, but my knowledge is not enough even to estimate those errors.

At first, we didn’t understand what was happening, but then we saw. An American plane, having silently approached the ship, suddenly turned on its engines and spotlight. A tropical night, the sharpest military-political situation in the world, and overhead, an enemy military aircraft was circling. There was reason to be scared. About an hour and a half later, the plane left, and we went to sleep. The next day, September 20, had even more unpleasant surprises in store for us. Waking up in the morning, I looked out the porthole and saw land. I was pleased, thinking we had arrived at our destination. But the joy was short-lived. To the right of the ship, I saw a small vessel. I thought the Cubans were greeting us. But looking closer, my brothers, I saw guns aimed at our ship. Something was wrong. I went up to the captain’s bridge, where the command was all gathered. Around our “Physicist Vavilov,” there were 13 American warships. The captain contacted Moscow and reported the alarming situation. The Americans asked for our “port of registry” and “destination port.” The captain responded. The Americans suggested we turn right, as they were conducting firing exercises at sea targets directly on our course. Moscow did not allow us to change course. The Americans wanted to drive us into their naval base at Guantanamo. We kept moving forward. Our speed was 18 knots. Ahead on our course, some military vessel was approaching us. I don’t know their classification, maybe a destroyer. Our ship was 30,000 tons displacement. So, if it hadn’t turned, we would have simply crushed that little ship. I still see it as if it were real. The Americans escorted us for another two hours, then, wishing us a safe journey, fell behind.

At 12 o’clock, the ship approached the bay of the port of Santiago and anchored in anticipation of permission to enter the port. The day was overcast. I was interestedly examining the entrance to the bay. On the right side of the bay, the Morro fortress rises. The base of the fortress starts almost at sea level. The bottom of the fortress is clad with huge concrete slabs. Somewhere around 50–60 meters from the bottom begins the masonry of large stones. The height of the fortress wall, in my opinion, is about 150 meters. The wall is topped with battlements. Later, when I served in Santiago, I specifically went on a tour of the Morro castle. Inside the castle was a well for drinking water. I looked at the firearms and cannons from the 18th century. For me, as a future historian, it was very interesting to see a medieval fortress in real life.

But let’s return to the ship. We were allowed to enter the bay. The entrance to the bay is not very wide and is covered by mountain ranges on both sides. Our “Physicist Vavilov” slowly and majestically moved through this narrow and long bay towards the dock. I couldn’t take my eyes off the shores of the bay. The beauty was indescribable. Greenery, a variety of flowers, cozy, beautiful houses, a corner of paradise. The ship slowly approached the dock and began unloading. The port did not have its own cranes for unloading, so the ship was unloaded with its own cranes. The regiment’s headquarters, where we were supposed to arrive, was located northwest of the city of Santiago and three kilometers from the city. Here I would like to note the selflessness and readiness of our personnel to perform any task. In difficult climatic conditions, they worked around the clock without rest. A huge amount of cargo had to be delivered to the place, living conditions had to be arranged, and combat readiness had to be achieved in the shortest possible time. And all this was done by our soldiers and sergeants in a very short time. By the evening of September 20, I arrived at the location of the regiment’s headquarters. Overall, the place was not bad. Previously, it was a cattle yard. However, by the time we arrived, everything had been cleaned up so that there was no smell of livestock. In Cuba, they do not build cowsheds like ours. For cattle in Cuba, they simply put up shelters, with a roof of palm leaves on top, and a fence about 60–70 cm high at the bottom. And no walls or doors. Under these shelters, cots were set up, and soldiers and sergeants were accommodated. Slightly higher up, on a hill, stood the villa of the former owner of the cattle yard. Now, the regiment’s headquarters and command post were located there.

Upon arriving at the regiment’s headquarters, I met with my supervisor, the head of the political department. It was Major Gevorkyan Nikolai Lazarevich. I also got acquainted with my colleagues. They were the instructor for organizational-party work, Buryak Vasily Ivanovich, the assistant for the Komsomol, and the head of the club. That was the entire political department, including myself. Since I had no time during the transition from the USSR to Cuba, it was only here that I began to think more concretely about my duties. In short, my main responsibility was the political education of all categories of military personnel and volunteers. In the Soviet Army, Marxist-Leninist training was introduced for the officer corps. Its program corresponded to the curriculum of non-humanitarian university students. For soldiers and sergeants, political education was conducted twice a week for two hours. I had to prepare the leaders of Marxist-Leninist training and instruct the leaders of political classes on how to conduct the sessions. Besides these main duties, I worked with the party-Komsomol activists of the units, planned the themes for political information, and assisted in the arrangement of Lenin rooms in the units. Of course, organizing and conducting all these forms of ideological education under normal conditions would not have been a great effort for me. But what about here, in Cuba? There was no literature, no notebooks for recording sessions. There was nowhere to conduct the sessions. Officers, soldiers, and sergeants worked under tremendous stress to fulfill the order and achieve combat readiness. And I received an order from the Political Administration in Havana to immediately organize all forms of political education and ideological work. Accordingly, I began to fulfill the order of the Political Administration, that is, my duties. Yes, a regiment is not a division. I received no help from the chief, and frankly, I did not ask for it. The work of a political officer has its peculiarities. The main thing that ensures success in the work of a political officer is the ability to persuade. And to be able to persuade, one must be much better prepared than the one you are persuading. Therefore, I attached primary importance to personal professional preparation. In this regard, it helped me a lot that in my childhood and youth I read a lot, mainly Russian and foreign classics. My university studies also helped me in practical work. I want to say that a propagandist, in order to work properly, had to have a fairly decent level of political and general education. Having figured out my official duties, I gradually established all forms of political education in the regiment. The regiment was located in the eastern province of Cuba. The divisions were deployed near Guantanamo, Bayamo, and Manzanillo. Another division was stationed right above the port of Santiago. Thus, I had the opportunity to get well acquainted with the eastern province of Cuba, as I regularly traveled to the divisions. From the political administration, I received instructions on what themes to conduct political classes and how many hours to allocate for each theme. About a month after we arrived in Cuba, quite unexpectedly, two colonels from the political administration of the troop group arrived. Most importantly, my direct chief, Colonel Plaksin, the head of the propaganda and agitation department, came. They arrived after lunch and, of course, began to talk with us. I, a captain barely a year in the position, and he, Plaksin, a colonel and quite high up in my line of duty. We talked for a long time. Understandably, the situation was complicated, and the political administration needed to know how people were behaving in this environment. Plaksin talked with me for a long time and suddenly, the devil made me blurt out that I had a seminar tomorrow. Plaksin immediately expressed a desire to attend my seminar. And what is a seminar? I had to gather the leaders of political classes and give instructions on how to conduct the sessions on the given topic, what directions to take, how to cover it, what literature to use, etc.

The first thing I did was to ask the unit commanders to ensure the attendance of the session leaders at the seminar. This was the most important issue. I gave the task to the club manager to prepare the room for the sessions. There were no tables, so we decided to put boards on stools. I must give credit to the unit commanders; they understood my request and ensured 100% attendance. But that was not all. I had to prepare for the report myself. Since the inspectors kept us late, I had to prepare for the briefing until three in the morning. The report’s topic: The CPSU — the leading and guiding force of society. The topic was handed down from the political administration. Two hours were allocated for covering the topic in the political education sessions. And now, 8 o’clock in the morning. Everyone gathered. I reported to Plaksin and asked for permission to start the session. I don’t know where the inspiration came from. I spoke for more than an hour. I argued that the CPSU truly is the leading and guiding force of our society. Plaksin listened. He never once interrupted my report. The seminar ended. I silently looked at Plaksin and waited for the debriefing. The only remark he made was why I had given only two hours to the leaders to cover the topic? I replied that such a schedule was given by the political administration. Plaksin told me that for the volume of the report I had given, officers should have been given four hours. It was a complete victory. Being in the position for only two months, receiving such an assessment of my instructional report from such a high-ranking chief meant a lot to me. I have already noted that the military-political situation around Cuba was heating up every day. In these conditions, conveying the real military-political situation to the personnel was the most important task. It was not enough just to inform people about political events; a deep and comprehensive analysis was necessary. Some information about the situation was provided by the information sheet issued by the Political Administration. But this information was insufficient. Soon, the press from Moscow began to arrive once a week, but in very limited quantities. I, as they say, studied this press and traveled to the divisions to convey the international situation, the situation in Cuba, and in the Union. I don’t want to boast, but I will say that the personnel of the divisions always awaited my arrival and listened to my lectures with great interest. Probably because, with the practical absence of newspapers and magazines in the divisions, I was the person who could more or less explain the unfolding international situation. Moscow was very poorly received. To allow the management units to listen to the latest news from Moscow, I did the following. The latest news from Moscow was broadcast late in the evening, and it was poorly heard. The head of the soldiers’ club and I listened and recorded them on a tape recorder. Then I edited the recording, and we recorded the latest news on the tape recorder. It might seem like nothing special. Just think, the transmission of the latest news. But in the extreme conditions in which we all found ourselves, listening to the anthem of the Soviet Union in the morning, then the latest news, created an atmosphere of confidence and calm. But still, I loved working in the units. Officers, soldiers, sergeants were on combat duty. They performed the main task, covering the airspace of Cuba. Maybe because in the recent past I myself was a deputy political officer of a division, I was drawn to them. I understood how difficult it was for the deputies of the division commanders for political affairs to maintain high morale among the personnel in these conditions. Therefore, as a worker of the political department, I helped in their practical work. The situation was very complicated. The regiment’s headquarters, our divisions, were located 70–100 km from the American naval base at Guantanamo. In October 1962, there were 100,000 units of marines in Guantanamo. The living force of our regiment was about 800 people, and of course, they were not marines.

Regarding the Armed Forces of Cuba, they totaled only 50,000 people and were in a nascent state. Had hostilities begun, they would have crushed us in an instant. We, the officers, were issued service weapons which we carried with us around the clock. We walked around in civilian trousers and shirts. But we were dressed in such a way that one could spot a Soviet comrade from a kilometer away. The trousers were woolen, heavy. The shoes had thick rubber soles. The shirts were checkered like a chessboard. That’s how we strutted around in the tropics. I later bought myself several light Cuban trousers and shirts.

Undoubtedly, the transfer of such a large number of people from the Soviet Union to Cuba could not go unnoticed by American intelligence. We did not quite resemble agricultural workers, and our equipment did not look like combines for harvesting sugar cane. Kennedy, the President of the USA, did not believe that medium-range missiles had been delivered to Cuba. But when photographs of our missiles were laid before him, everything became clear to him.

On the night of October 19, I was in the second division in Bayamo. At 9 pm, a telegram came from the regiment’s headquarters. It stated that a group of counter-revolutionaries had landed in the division’s area. The division commander was ordered to organize ground defense of the combat position and bring the equipment to combat readiness. I was ordered to return to the regiment’s headquarters in the morning. The division commander, with the combat crew, brought the equipment to combat readiness, and I, along with the deputy for political affairs of the division commander, organized the ground defense of the division. The night was very dark, moonless. And around the firing position, there was thick, tall grass and sugar cane. We placed sentries around the firing position and instructed them on what to do in case of an attack.

The danger was that the sentries, 18–19-year-old kids, under such strong tension, could shoot each other out of fear in the dark of night. In the morning, a car came for me, and I left for the regiment. Since I was well acquainted with our combat equipment, the regiment commander appointed me as the operational duty officer at the regiment’s command post. The regiment’s CP was equipped with a tablet that displayed the air situation based on data from the radar station, and a decision was made to destroy any attacking air target. American aviation flew over Cuba from all sides but was wary of entering the firing zone of the anti-aircraft missile divisions. At the same time, we did not have permission to open fire. Around Cuba, 180 military ships, American, were concentrated. Considering the combat capabilities of the American naval base at Guantanamo, located 70 km from us, the superiority of American offensive forces was immeasurably greater compared to our defensive capabilities. Undoubtedly, if hostilities had begun, the defenders of Cuba would have been destroyed. But, along with Cuba, millions of people would have disappeared. This would have been the last war on Earth. Kennedy, the President of America, understood such a danger, unlike the military, who literally demanded that the President strike Cuba. The fact is that on October 19, photographs of our medium-range missiles installed in Cuba by agronomists from the USSR were laid before Kennedy. Kennedy invited our ambassador and demanded an explanation of what was in the photographs? Missiles or combines? Our ambassador had nothing to cover up with. Kennedy announced a blockade. All ships heading to Cuba were to be inspected to ensure they were not carrying military equipment or weapons to Cuba. The military-political situation in the world was heating up to the limit.

To be continued...

In 2007, I was invited to a meeting with participants of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I had always wanted to find someone from those with whom I participated in the defense of the Cuban revolution back in 1962. After 45 years, I met my former commander, Colonel Roman Grigoryevich Danilevich. He strongly advised me to write down my memories of our expedition to Cuba.

So, the year was 1962. At that time, I served as the deputy commander for political affairs of an anti-aircraft missile division at the Kapustin Yar military range, near Volgograd. A division is a small unit. There were about 80 soldiers and sergeants and 17 officers. Sometime in July, upon returning from a business trip, I noticed something unusual happening at the base. Everyone was running around, whispering about something, and I was out of the loop. That’s how most of the summer passed. Not long before, a competent and good officer, Rosenstein, had been appointed as the commander of our division. Suddenly, he was removed and transferred to another position, and I was appointed as the propagandist for the political department of the unit. Typically, this position was assigned to officers with a completed higher education, but I had only two years of university education. All this already indicated that the situation was extraordinary. By the time of my new appointment to the political department of the regiment, I found myself alone. Thus, I had to start working in the new position without any guidance. Most of the regiment had already been sent on this unknown mission. At the end of August, preparations began for the departure of the remaining personnel. The deputy commander of the regiment, Zaikov, was appointed as the head of the echelon, and I was appointed as his deputy for political affairs. My wife asked the regiment’s command to allow her to go on the mission with me, but she was denied. They explained to her that her husband might not return from this mission.

The time of departure arrived. We left late at night from the Kapustin Yar railway station. The last evening at home. The children were asleep, and my wife had a high fever. I sat alone, watching television. Zara Dolukhanova was performing, singing Ave Maria. I listened, spellbound. It was time to leave, but I couldn’t until I heard the end. Later, I listened to this brilliant piece performed by other singers many times, but in my opinion, no one performed it quite like Zara Dolukhanova. Of course, I didn’t believe in God, but it seemed to me that some kind force, a kind spirit, was seeing me off on this difficult mission. At the station, the loading of military equipment was completed, and personnel began to be placed in the wagons. In those years, the valiant Soviet troops were transported by rail in “teplushkas,” that is, in freight wagons. In the wagons, bunks were made from boards, and we slept on them without any bedding. During my service in the Soviet army, I often had to travel this way. It was good if the wagon was four-axled, but if it was two-axled, then it was a disaster. In a two-axled wagon, when you lay on the bunks, the joints of the rails would toss you up by 5-10 cm. Try to sleep. But sleep we did.

Each “teplushka” (heated freight car) accommodated 50-60 people. There were no conveniences. We had to endure until the stops. The journey to the destination, to Feodosia, took seven days. Along the way, I tried to get to know the personnel better. I wanted to establish trust, especially with the officers. On the road, I couldn’t organize lectures and talks for the entire personnel. Therefore, I conducted individual work to better understand the soldiers, sergeants, and officers with whom I had to perform the most challenging task far from the Motherland. As a political officer, I had to be aware of the people’s mood and their moral-political state. I want to say that our people correctly understood the situation, and no one expressed any dissatisfaction. We were always ready to defend the interests of the countries that had embarked on the path of building socialism. There were no complications along the way. Finally, we arrived in Feodosia. We were stationed on the territory of a tank regiment. Here we were to board a ship and set off to perform an international task. We had just settled the personnel in the barracks when the duty officer came running to me and informed me that Colonel Slukhai was calling for me. As I later learned, Colonel Slukhai was a representative of the Main Political Directorate of the Soviet Army and Navy. I didn’t understand what I had done to be summoned by such a high-ranking officer. Unfortunately, in our time, if you were called to the commander, it was only to be reprimanded. And I wasn’t particularly wrong. Slukhai started the conversation by saying that I, as the senior political officer of this echelon, was working poorly with the officer corps and therefore, some officers had a low level of moral-political state. I was, as they say now, gobsmacked. I explained to him, or rather, tried to explain, that none of our officers had allowed any unhealthy statements about the mission. And he replied that our Lieutenant Colonel Prokhorov had chickened out and was expressing his dissatisfaction because he had not been told where the mission was and for how long. I had no idea who Lieutenant Colonel Prokhorov was. It turned out that another division had been attached to our regiment in Feodosia, commanded by Prokhorov. But I didn’t know that yet. However, Slukhai was not concerned about that. Your officer, your fault. He immediately issued an order to organize a party investigation and expel Prokhorov from the party. With a heavy heart, I left the colonel. I went to meet and sort things out with Lieutenant Colonel Prokhorov. He explained to me that the division had spent the whole summer at shooting ranges, in camps. The division had not had time to return home when they were ordered to leave for the mission. Upon arriving in Feodosia, the division commander approached Slukhai to find out where the division was being sent. Instead of calmly explaining the situation within permissible limits to the division commander, Slukhai rudely cut him off. Then the division commander said that he would be forced to appeal to a higher authority. Slukhai replied that no one higher up would tell him anything either. And then our lieutenant colonel blurted out that if the Soviet government could not explain to him where and why the division was being sent, he would turn to the UN. The man said this in the heat of the moment. But the bird had flown; he had said it, and that was that. Slukhai immediately reported the division commander’s cowardice to the higher-ups. Literally within a day, the order to remove Prokhorov from his position and the new commander arrived by plane in Feodosia to make it in time for the division’s loading onto the ship. I was tasked with conducting a party investigation and expelling Prokhorov from the party. And that meant that the man would be kicked out of the army without a pension, and it was unlikely that he would be accepted for any decent position in civilian life. It meant destroying a man with my own hands. My state was deplorable. The fact was that if I did not do this, Slukhai would remove me from my position and expel me from the party. And that would have been a disaster for me. For Slukhai, however, the behavior of this officer was a gift of fate. Indeed, he had exposed a coward, a panicker. And who was it? The commander of a combat unit! So, he was not here for nothing, resting on the beaches of Feodosia. Unfortunately, that’s how many political officers built their careers on the bones of supposedly guilty officers. That’s why political officers were disliked, and sometimes even hated, in the officer community.

Following Slukhai’s order, I trudged to the location of this division. I introduced myself to the lieutenant colonel and explained the task Slukhai had set for me. I asked him to write an explanatory note, and I asked the secretary of the party organization to conduct a party investigation. As the senior political officer, I was doing everything formally correct, but somehow I was dragging it out over time. I prayed to God that our loading onto the ship would start sooner. Fortunately, the command came to load onto the ship “Physicist Vavilov,” and once the loading began, I was already out of Slukhai’s reach. I began to deal with the loading of personnel onto the ship. True, Slukhai tried to press me to finish this dirty business, but, excuse me, Comrade Colonel, loading personnel onto the ship is more important than the personal case of a communist. Slukhai had nothing to object to. Many years later, he still took revenge on me for this. Petty, dirty, in a Slukhai-like, Pharisaic manner. But that was later, and for now, the loading onto the ship was underway. There was a lot of trouble. It was necessary to load, secure, and camouflage the combat equipment. To accommodate a personnel of 400 people. Officers were placed in the cabins of the ship’s crew. Soldiers and sergeants were placed in the hold. There, bunks and minimal conveniences were equipped. I was given a room in the cabin of the political officer, or otherwise, the first assistant to the ship’s captain. The new division commander arrived. I liked him very much, although he was somewhere over forty and seemed old to me. We quickly found common ground, and subsequently, in Cuba, I often visited his division near Guantanamo. During the loading process, it was necessary to ensure that none of the personnel ran away. Thank God, everything went well. The loading finished late at night. Around one o’clock in the morning, Marshal of Artillery Zakharov, responsible for our dispatch, gathered us for a meeting. The meeting was attended by the ship’s captain, the first assistant to the captain, the head of the echelon, a KGB representative, and me, the deputy head of the echelon for political affairs. Marshal Zakharov thanked us for the well-organized loading.

Addressing the ship’s captain, the marshal said that we would go far. But where, he did not know. The package indicating the port of destination was to be opened after passing Gibraltar. The ship was to travel in a radio silence zone. The ship’s captain was to steer the ship on a course where there was the least likelihood of encountering other ships. In case of an attack on the ship, we could use the machine guns and grenade launchers on board for defense. And the most terrible thing that was said was, “in case of a threat of capture, the cargo must not be surrendered to the enemy.” And we, 400 people, were the cargo. This meant that the captain was to open the kingstons and gently, tenderly lower us to the bottom of the ocean, to feed the sharks. That was the task set before the ship’s captain. Furthermore, the marshal separately tasked us with preventing the possibility of conscripted personnel leaving the ship during the passage through the Bosporus and Dardanelles straits. It turns out there had already been such a case. Returning from the meeting, we instructed the officer corps on what and how to do. People were very tired. We appointed a night shift and dispersed to rest.

I woke up in the morning already far from the borders of the USSR. Today, this is quite a common occurrence, but at that time, an ordinary mortal wouldn’t even dare to dream about it. The very sensation of being abroad stirred a storm of some incomprehensible feelings within me. I quickly found common ground with the first assistant to the ship’s captain. In his cabin was a complete collection of the large Soviet Encyclopedia published in 1954. Of course, we all understood that we were heading to Cuba. Therefore, I decided to see what information the encyclopedia provided about Cuba. Indeed, there was a lot of interesting information. After that, I gathered the unit commanders and their political deputies, detailed everything I had learned about Cuba, and tasked them with conducting political sessions with the personnel about Cuba. I descended into the hold. Behind the hold’s wall, the engine was working. In the conditions in which the personnel were, conducting any sessions was very difficult. The fact was that on the ship, we had all changed into civilian clothes. Being in civilian clothes, some military personnel decided that there was no longer any military subordination, and they could treat an officer as an equal. This could not be allowed. Organizing sessions was one of the forms of maintaining order among the personnel.

Meanwhile, the military-political situation in the world was becoming increasingly tense. Provocative actions by American aviation and the navy against our civilian ships became more frequent. Flights of American planes along the border of the Soviet Union increased. I regularly listened to the radio and informed the officer staff about the military-political situation in the world. And the situation was becoming more acute every day. On September 10th, we passed Gibraltar. Radio Moscow broadcasted a decree of the Soviet Government “On bringing the Armed Forces of the USSR to the highest combat readiness.” The document set tasks for each branch of the USSR Armed Forces to prepare for the start of combat operations. And it was about the beginning of a thermonuclear war. And we, in this extremely heated political atmosphere, entered the Atlantic Ocean in a zone of radio silence. The Atlantic Ocean - the realm of American aviation and the navy. And we had on board 400 soldiers and 40 officers of the Soviet army with combat equipment. It was very worrisome, but we tried not to show it outwardly. It is worth noting the warm and respectful attitude of the ship’s personnel and command towards us. I was amazed by the vastness of the oceanic expanses. But I did not want to end up at the bottom of this beautiful ocean. For that, I was too young. By the way, on September 15th, I turned 32 years old. The ship’s command arranged a luxurious dinner for me, to which officers and the ship’s command were invited. For the soldiers and sergeants, they made a pool. They set up four posts and threw a waterproof tarpaulin over the top. This device was filled with water from the ocean. Thank God, there was plenty of water. Of course, swimming in the pool had a very positive effect on the mood of the soldiers and sergeants, which is important when there are 400 people, and uncertainty lies ahead. The ship’s captain organized a tour of the ship’s engine room for the officers. For the first time in my life, I saw this huge machine that moved the ship. It was practically a three-story factory. We then went down to where the shaft was spinning. It was a very interesting sight. So we went through the Atlantic, without any incidents, and were already approaching Cuba. On September 19th, we, the officers, as usual, sat on the deck under the awning and talked in the evening. It was very quiet, and only the duty lights were on. And suddenly, in this silence and darkness, the deck lit up, and a deafening roar sounded...

To be continued...

It seems to me that in the interwar period there were a lot of tanks designed with the idea that they would stay with groups of infantry, providing direct fire support while being a lot more durable than a field gun. My understanding is that this was generally abandoned in favour of faster tanks which operated somewhat independently of infantry. But to my very limited knowledge, the infantry tank seems to make sense. What were the theory's disadvantages? (Or is my understanding flawed?)

> At the height of the Great Famine in 1960, a group of students exiled to the countryside launched a magazine that dared to tell the truth. Their convictions, and the love they bore for one another, were put to the test.

Set to chill instrumental music. Paris, Jerusalem, Istanbul, Geneva, Kyoto, London, Giza, New York, Germany, Madrid, Barcelona, Venice, Dublin, Moscow, Lyon, Marseille, etc.

@history Hi All, I am new here.. what's the newest topic?:)

An interesting story of how a silver denarius, minted over 2,000 years ago, reveals efforts taken by Ancient Rome to counter voter intimidation and manipulation during elections.

The image and videos title were clearly changed for clicks and don’t match the documentary except for the opium war period, but it’s a great doc that goes into much more