Translation from a note in a journal of a Tallinn’s vigdi_ss:
I think you’ll understand me.
This is my city. I’ve lived here since birth. I feel every bit of change in the wind from the sea. This city, it’s mine. The city is a living being for me. I know how she feels, eats, and breaths. And, naturally,most recent events cause a physical reaction, nervous shivers, nervous tears.
I’m alive and well. Not worked over by “democratizators”, not overwhelmed with gas, with healthy kidneys. Many hundreds of people, just like me, who consider this city their own, are sitting in the Terminal D at the Tallinn port with any opportunity to wash their faces or use the facilities.
I just came home. I have a heavy head. I couldn’t sleep all night. It seems like I live far away from the city center, but still — constant rattle of helicopters, ongoing sirens. which I can still hear even here at the end of the world.
Sunny, dry, and cool morning. Nearly 80 percent, shop and gallery windows are covered with plywood. What a wild sight! It’s strange that in the middle of the night a mob didn’t want to take the gold, or clothes, but books. Damn, here I’m biting my elbows from anger: I understand that it’s looting and hairsplitting, but in one bookstore I saw a giant atlas of the world which I wanted to buy. Even that store’s windows were broken. I didn’t get the atlas.
It’s quiet. The air today smells like dry rotten fury and blood. And now I’m scared for real. But it had to happen. I’m glad it had happened. Now it doesn’t even matter what shape it has taken. People knew long ago that friggin’ integration, based on Draconian laws or almost persecution, has failed. But everyone has chosen to close their eyes. And we endured, swallowed, bullshitted on forums, hoped that everything would get sorted on its own and that the government would open its eyes. But those people have no eyes; they’re blind. They were blinded by unbearable thirst for free money that flows into their hands and power. Very few come out of the test by power.
I understand, many frequently write about provocations. I hate that word. My dear people, those Russian (from Russia) friends who think those events are provocation — of America or Kremlin — I’d have to report: even if it was a provocation, even if it was a Russian provocation, trust me it doesn’t matter. Now we cannot afford NOT TO REACT.
Today is Saturday. Which means tourists. Swedes-Norwegians and British. We ought to organize quick tours, as A. said. Something like “Eric The Red: Back to the Future.” The brochures would say, “Rob, Kill, and Rape. Remember your glorious past of your ancestors vikings.” It would work here.
And everyone will get their share.