Memoirs of a Little Revolutionary Pt. 3

Read the previous installments of this story here and here.

The day after the dissolution of the Maidan was eventful. Hospitals were full of the injured and people were hiding from Berkut in St. Michael’s Cathedral. The government explained the action of the police by saying that they had to put on the Christmas tree, but who gave the orders to beat people? They didn’t know and said that they were investigating. Opposition leaders have appealed to the leaders of the EU for sanctions against the president Yanukovych, and they announced the beginning of the revolution. Ambassadors from the United States and the European Union came to Ukraine to assess the situation themselves. People began to gather at St. Michael’s Square to support the victims and to express their outrage.

People from all over the country rode to Kiev, wishing to stand with us on the Maidan, but they couldn’t pass the boarders. It was officially announced that we will arrange Popular Assembly on December 1. In the evening, at St. Michael’s Square, about 40 thousand people gathered, more than ever before on the Maidan. It became apparent that the crackdown didn’t scare us; it just made us angry. Kiev drivers staged a protest, and their column passed through the whole city. Everyone was preparing for the next day.

 

December 1st – March of Millions

Popular Assembly was scheduled for 12 p.m. I left the house and was immediately struck by the amount of people on the streets. The national flag was hanging on every car, and people flocked from all drives, heading to the Shevchenko’s park, where we had a rally.

When I arrived there, I froze in shock; the crowd occupied the entire park and a few nearby streets. Many were dressed in national costumes and stood with posters and banners. The atmosphere was tense; people were eager to overthrow the government and punish them.

After some time, the whole crowd started to go to the Maidan — to win it back. In truth, there were so many people — over half a million — that no one would dare to stop us.

The road, which usually takes 10 minutes, took an hour; when I came on the Maidan, my friends were still at the park. Columns of people came from all sides. The Independence Square was too small for us, so we took the European Square and Khreshchatyk — Kiev’s central street.

No resistance was rendered. At first people wanted to move the Bloody Christmas Tree, as it is was now called, but later decided to “decorate” it with posters and flags. Desperate guys climbed to its top, looking at the Maidan from the height of a bird in flight. Mustang, the famous Ukrainian roofer, climbed to the roof of the building that was 9 floors tall, and hung the Ukrainian flag on its peak, burning fireworks.

From the scene, the opposition leaders were giving a patriotic speech and trying to create morale. We listened, and we even believed in what they were saying. Foolish on our part, but every revolution needs its own Che Guevara. We were hoping that they wouldn’t fail us. Radicals seized the building of Kyiv City Council and the House of Trade Unions. Some people supported them, some didn’t, but nobody tried to really stop them.

Oppositionist Yatsenyuk announced our requirements: the government resignation and re-election of the president and the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine. People were putting up tents, planning to stay on the Maidan until the demands were met. Everything was good. Then came the massacre.

***

Closer to the evening, I heard a group of guys next to me discussing the events on Bankova street. Supposedly, someone went to annex the Presidential Administration. I saw that many people were going in that direction, and I was seized by curiosity. I went after them, listening and peering into the distance.

Before the Administration were rows of police officers and Berkut. Next stood the protesters, who were trying to divide people and the police. The job was not easy because their chain was constantly being attempted to be broken by the aggressive-minded guys about 20 years old — radicals. The others just watched the scene. In total we had about a thousand people there, and the strangest thing in this whole situation was a bulldozer in front of the self-defense line. It wasn’t clear where it came from. At that moment I began to suspect something was wrong. Kiev, of course, is a strange city, but no one here will allow you to drive the bulldozer through the main streets and park under the Presidential Administration building.

“Provocation,” I muttered under my breath.

People were shouting things like “Out with the thugs!” — making the situation even more tense. I made my way to the front, and then I was surprised by another fact. Instead of professional fighters, in the first line of policemen stood young guys in lightweight uniforms; their only protection was a metal fence. People began to throw stones at them, but they didn’t raise shields and didn’t protect themselves. Behind them stood Berkut, quietly watching.

At this point, one guy from the radical youth took a seat behind the bulldozer. Self-defense scattered, and the bulldozer went straight to the police, knocking the metal fence. The aggressively minded group of people ran forward and started beating the police with bats, hands, and feet. One guy found a chain and attacked the soldiers from the Presidential Administration. Protesters divided into two groups: one caught the mood of the radicals; the other tried to stop them.

Policemen and Berkut didn’t even attempt to address the people; they just stood there and suffered while all this was filmed on cameras. It became obvious that it would soon be on all the screens of the country, where people would talk about the inhuman actions of the protesters who brutally attacked the police on duty. Then I saw that some of the radicals began to sneak behind the ranks of the police. Provocateurs were specifically hired to create a dangerous situation and portray the protesters as cruel monsters. But it was too late; people were unstoppable. Around me, the fireworks, smoke bombs, and firecrackers were exploding, and stones and gas cartridges flew above our heads. We managed to move the bulldozer aside after an unsuccessful attempt to break through the special forces. We gathered about 2,000 spectators, but only a small group of provocateurs were active.

The opposition leaders ran on Bankova street and tried to stop them and bring people back to the Square, but all their speeches were interrupted by radicals. They attacked not only the police officers, but also those who tried to stop the mess. Soon the police started to throw stun grenades and tear gas. A cloud of smoke hung over Bankova. People began to push each other in panic, and I was thrown in different directions, not able to get away from the crowd. Tears flowed from my eyes, my ears ached from the loud explosions, and people constantly stepped on me or shoved their elbows into my body.

When darkness fell, the police finally got their shields and began to pound on them, and they raised their hands with batons. All this was making people nervous. Stones were flying in all directions, and there were many wounded. The radicals were gone, unnoticed.

Without warning, Berkut began to attack. People didn’t realize what was happening and didn’t try to escape at first. I frantically started to rush out from the crowd, but it was impossible. Everyone was beaten, and a lot of journalists were injured, but the special forces didn’t care. We all ran to the Maidan, and Berkut chased us along. They caught people and beat them until they stopped moving. They even attacked casual passers-by who were “lucky” enough to be near Bankova at that time.

Never before had I experienced such fear, realizing that if Berkut caught me, I wouldn’t be going home that day; they won’t even send me to hospital. I had a choice: to run with the crowd or try to hide in the street corners; but, if they found me — I wouldn’t be able to escape.

Soon Berkut stopped hunting us and returned to their post; they had enough victims. They dragged the affected people over the railing of the Presidential Administration and filmed them on mobile phones, making them kneel, smile with bloodied faces, and beg for mercy. Despite the fact that people were barely conscious, the police still continued to beat them.

The next day most channels showed the story of how the protesters attacked Berkut without showing the counter attack. Many people were considered missing, and others were arrested and accused of all sins even though some of them were not even present on Bankova street.

But it was just the beginning of the catastrophe.

 

Videos documenting these events can be found here (initial protest/attack on the police) and here (police retaliation). Please be cautioned that they contain raw images of graphic violence and police brutality.