?

Log in

No account? Create an account
entries friends calendar profile The Chernobyl Poems of Lyubov Sirota Previous Previous Next Next
Pripyat in the photos and video of Alexander Sirota - The Saved Planet
Щорічна міжнародна акція "Спасенна планета"
orantas
orantas
Pripyat in the photos and video of Alexander Sirota


Pripyat
in the articles, photos and video of my son Alexander Sirota

Some our Pripyat photos you can find on his gallery on the site Pripyat.com here: http://gallery.pripyat.com/browseimages.php?perpage=90&catid=member&imageuser=469/

Pripyat the City-Museum / г. Припять Город-Музей


Petition to make Pripyat a city-monument  

Здесь: видео ролик ЗОНА. ЗИМА-2006 / video roller of A. Sirota 
you can download it here:
"Pripyat. Zone. Winter of 2006" (39 Mb).

Some his photoreports from dead Pripyat see here:
Припять, 9 мая 2007 Фоторепортаж / Pripyat, May, 9, 2007.The picture story and Pripyat. Winter 2006. Photo report, part 2
Video roller about visiting the Chernobyl Zone by writers of festival "EUROCON-2006" - here: http://new.pripyat.com/video/00049.html Also his films you can see on my YouTube channel "Our Pripyat "
http://www.youtube.com/user/pripyatchanka .
Также его фильмы вы можете посмотреть на моем YouTube канале
"Our Pripyat": http://www.youtube.com/user/pripyatchanka .
It's one of of the films from there / Вот один из фильмов оттуда: 
"Spring walk in Pripyat" / "Весенняя прогулка в Припяти"  (video of Alexander Sirota)



Скачать видео ролик можно здесь: http://pripyat.com/video/00053.html     
Here video about it in news 5 channels of Ukrainian TV: Мародеры в Припяти (in Russian) / Marauders in Pripyat (in English)
Interview withwith Rollan Sergienko - the director of the whole series of films about Chernobyl (including our film "Threshold").
Здесь: Интервью с Ролланом Сергиенко - режиссером целой серии фильмов о Чернобыле, в том числе фильм "Порог".
Чернобыль: Зона молчания / Chernobyl: The Zone of Silence  (Through whole film the common thread held memories journalist Alexander Sirota -- former resident of Pripyat, evacuated from the city April 27, 1986. / Через весь фильм связующей нитью проходят воспоминания журналиста Александра Сироты, припятчанина, эвакуированного из города 27 апреля 1986 года.):


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Александр Сирота  "ХОЧУ, ЧТОБЫ ПОМНИЛИ"
Статья из журнала «DHA NEWS» октябрь 1995 г.
(на русском читать здесь: http://pripyat.livejournal.com/479.html)
DHA NEWS *September/October 1995*No. 16
Alexander Sirota "I want them to remember"
A letter from a child of Chernobyl  

Reminiscences ... shreds of memory ... that is all that is left of the once beauti­ful young town of Pripyat which was to be, though not for long, my home... 
In April 1986 I was not yet 10 years old. For me, then a care­free little boy, and for my age group the cosy little streets of our town, all its yards and back alleys, and also the nearby wood and the Pripyat River, were the scenes of our childish play and "war games".

That fatal Saturday, 26 April, was no exception. I remember how my friends and I, after school, ran down to the stream and played on its banks almost until nightfall, building fortresses and dugouts.

And then, when they quietly woke up those living in our block, warning them to prepare for evacuation and wait for the buses, we children, collecting frothy water in our boots, were running races in the puddles near the road, along which lorries were continuously plying to the atomic station and back. But we did not pay any special attention to them, any more than to the anx­ious faces of the adults, crowded beside their bags and talking in an undertone.Indeed, the evacuation itself then seemed like an exciting game, only now with real camou­flaged military helicopters flying low over the roofs, with real armoured troop-carriers, with militiamen in flak jackets and gas masks standing along the road, with an endless line of buses taking us and all the town 's population "for three days " to an unknown destination.

We did not know and did not understand then that we were leaving our town for ever.

I remember that two of my friends were with me in our bus. And in the next one, slowly creep­ing behind us, there were several other children of our age. And when the buses moved out of the town over the bridge and passed the wood, which was later called "rusty", we put our heads out of the open windows, one friend "zapping" another with imagi­nary tommy-guns.

We were still playing at toy soldiers, with no inkling that from that moment a new phase was beginning in our lives, the lives of our friends, relatives and intimates.I distinctly remember the sum­mer at the scout camp where we children from Pripyat, with labels on our chests so as not to get lost, were sent from Kiev in hastily as­sembled trains. Only there, where for several months most of the children did not even know where their parents were and whether they were alive, where the rumour constantly circulated that we would never again return to Pripyat, only there did I first keenly feel the pain of having lost all that was dearest to me: friends, classmates, our cosy though tiny flat, the Palace of Culture, which for me was a home from home, because our then still young, healthy and energetic mother spent a large part of her time at work, devoting all her strength to the cultural life of the town. Now my mother is an invalid and has difficulty in reaching the shops.

I could only dream about my town. I dreamed for a long time, right up till my first trip to the Zone in the spring of 1994, when I finally realized that return was impossible.

Can you imagine what it means to amble along the streets of one 's dead town past familiar buildings, past broken windows looking at you with dumb reproach, like empty eye sockets? Everywhere the chill of abandon­ment, everything overgrown with shrubs, moss and grass.Before that trip I had already seen unnaturally huge linden leaves brought from Pripyat. Now I can myself touch those trees, those dogrose hips from last year, intertwined into strange, fantas­tical clusters.

On the darkened buildings you can still see traces of the system that has collapsed: here and there telltale posters from the series "Glory to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union ". And on one of high-rise buildings, in dumb witness to the bankrupt "power" of man over nature, tower the words: "Atoms for work, not for war!"

Meetings of Pripyat people ... At first they were frequent, now they take place less and less often, because every family has more and more pain, problems and misfortunes. Previously, when my mother's friends, cultural workers like her, came to see her, they laughed a lot and talked mostly about art and poli­tics. Later, their conversation was concerned more and more of­ten with their children's illnesses and with grief in the families of their friends and acquaintances. I remember how at a recent such meeting one of the women joked bitterly: "Girls, soon we shall be talking only about who has been put in a coffin and when. " Black humour? Yes. But, alas, it is not far from the truth. In the past 10 years how much pain, how much grief have we seen close to! On just one of the staircases of our nine-story block there is hardly a single four-flat landing, not a single floor, where some­body has not already died of can­cer, a heart attack or leukaemia.Warning must be heeded

In the spring of 1994, after my visit to Pripyat, I was in the new power engineers' town Slavutich, where among newcomers from all over the former Union there also live a small number of Pripyat people. And what struck me more than anything else was the forgetfulness of the new genera­tion of atomic workers. In their new town, in the old way, they enjoy themselves and celebrate.

Despite the catastrophic situation of most of our fellow citizens, in the power engineers' town there are sufficient means for pompous festivals and shows. What is it? Desire to forget? Or to forget themselves? No, I am not against celebrations. On the contrary, I think our poor Ukraine badly needs them so that there will be less despair and hopelessness. But when at the Chernobyl atomic power station there is no money even for build­ing a new sarcophagus, but there is money for entertainment and for inviting highly-paid variety stars, it is reminiscent of the same old theatre of the absurd.

May the town where I spent my childhood, be an eternal reminder to everyone endowed with the slightest imagination that no one is safe against the repetition of such a nightmare, wherever they may live: in America, in Australia, in China ... and however many years may have elapsed since April 1986 we must not forget about it!I shall soon be 20. It is the lot of my generation to build its future and enter upon adult life in a very unstable, disoriented world. And frankly I do not know what is in store for me tomorrow, whether I shall have work, a roof and daily bread. But after visit­ing dead Pripyat I do know one thing: that I have no right to live in such a way as to leave behind me ruins, deserts or dead towns. And I am sure of one other thing: that until all Earth's inhabitants understand that on their irrespon­sible actions, or lack of action, depends the fate of those close to them, the fate of all Earth's people, nothing will change.

What then is left? There still remains one thing - hope in God! I have a little friend, six-year-old Milkolka. He is also one of us Pripyat people, though he was born in the family of some of our Pripyat acquaintances when the accident had already happened. That child is doomed. He has a rare form of blood disease called recticulohistiocytosis X. His life is one of continuous suffering. Our doctors had given him only three years to live. But, thank God, he is alive and I hope will live for a long time yet, thanks to our collective prayers! And yet even the German specialists had pronounced his illness incurable. Well then, recently his parents told us they had unintentionally wit­nessed how every evening, when nobody can see him, Milkolka kneels and prays: for his mother, for his father, for his brother, for us, for Ukraine, for peace on Earth.

A fatally sick little boy begs forgiveness for the sins of adults! Ah, how I wish that those who carry out dangerous programmes to serve their short-term interests could see ever before them the eyes of that boy, condemned by them to death, who prays each night for everyone 's - including their own - life and health! So that they would remember...

DHA News:September-October 1995

24-25
DHA News are free and can be obtained from the United Nations, Department of Humanitarian Affairs, Palais des Nations, 1211 Geneva 10, Switzerland;          (+41 22) 917.12.34; fax: (+41 22) 917.00.23; telex: 414242 dha ch; e-mail: dhagva@un.org
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
04.02.2011 — "Day of Pripyat" in National museum "Chernobyl"

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Прокоментувати