Three Russians and the New Year

Another year will soon be behind us, my dear people, my beloved readers!

No matter what we do, the planets, stars, and galaxies never stand still… Our world revolves tirelessly around the sun, which resembles a giant lion's mane; this is how our days pass. Silently, unknowingly; sometimes sorrowful, sometimes joyful…

I draw back the curtain; snow is falling, delicately, a little shyly… My cat looks curiously at the white flakes. We're lost in thought together, just like that… The air darkens slowly; what can I say but, please keep your hopes alive, I know it's hard, but still, keep trying, at least dream!

I wish you all a happy, joyful, and healthy new year, my dear readers!

TOLSTOY

Oh, great Tolstoy, setting out on your journey! Tell me, where does this journey lead? With your bundle on your back, and the staff you hold like a black snake in your hand, please tell me, where are you going like this? Being caught by the camera seems to have caused surprise, perhaps even anger, on your face… I understand, you want to be alone. It will make you happy, to walk alone, the stony, dusty path of the village of Astapovo…

Behind you, you leave in the mists War and Peace, Anna Karenina, Hadji Murad, The Cossacks, and many other works… Your soul was not satisfied by What Is Faith?, The Gospels in Brief, Church and State, A Confession, and your other carefully penned books… You questioned yourself again and again, and again you drowned in the sea of spiritual questions that have haunted humanity for thousands of years. You asked, asked, always asked… Why God, why death, why life, why me? But there is no answer! There is no answer, Master!

Wait, Master! Just stay there, standing tall, with your bundle on your back, your staff in your hand, please wait without moving! I'm coming, wait for me too! I have a few books left to write… I know that afterwards my soul, my identity, my self will be scattered into emptiness… I will want to take refuge in solitude like you. May your noble spirit accept me on this journey too… Let us walk together, silently, the path from Astapovo to the infinity of Siberia…

Don't worry, I won't tire you with conversation. I will follow your sacred silhouette a few steps behind. Your old ears will hear neither my footsteps nor the dry tree branches crushed under my feet, nor the pebbles scattered left and right… You will know that you are walking alone, just an insignificant shadow behind you; I will know that I am walking alone, in the shadow of a great Master, standing like a plane tree.

Great Master!

We read Anna Karenina, the pearl of world novels, with pleasure and made it our bedside book, reading it many times. You best described the disappointments, loyalty, passion, and jealousies experienced in marriage. We learned from your pen how Anna Karenina was ostracized by society, how she accepted an introverted life, how she spiraled into mental breakdown, and finally chose suicide.

Master! Very soon, how shall I put it, it's just around the corner, another year will pass on this old world, but neither the rules nor idealistic dreams have changed! Anna Kareninas are everywhere now… The small nest called family can no longer bear the burden on its back; every individual seeks freedom for themselves, carrying within them an enthusiastic but bitter song of rebellion…

DOSTOEVSKY

Is it possible to know you and then forget you, Master! How they arrested you abruptly and put you in prison because a letter titled Letter to Gogol was found in your apartment at that famous street corner during a police search. Ah! That ominous day, December 22, 1849! The verdict read to your face contained neither pardon nor exile to Siberia, they wanted immediate death. It was time for execution! With 20 other prisoners, they took you out of prison and dragged you, as it were, to Semyonov Square a little further away… The air was freezing cold… The clanking of your chains echoed in the depths of the frozen Neva River, every step you took consumed your hopes for life, you were drowned in meaningless sorrow…

The firing squad was there, at attention, waiting for you… Soldiers lined up in rows, impatient to fire their rifles… They lined you poor prisoners up in rows of three because there were three stakes hammered into the ground; you were to be shot in groups of three, your soul darkened.

They pulled out the first three prisoners and tied them to the stakes. Master, at that moment you realized you were living the last minutes of your life. When the commander raised his sword, the soldiers aimed. The sword was about to fall when a horseman galloped into the execution square; the merciful (!) Tsar had pardoned you, for God's sake…

Do you remember, Great Master, what you wrote to your brother about what you experienced that day:

“Today is December 22. They took us to Semyonov Square. There our death sentence was read to all of us, they made us kiss the cross, broke swords over our heads, and our last adornment was made (i.e., we were dressed in white shirts). Then they brought out three of us to be shot. I was the sixth, they called us in threes; according to this, I was in the second row and had only a few minutes left to live. I remembered you, brother, you and your whole family, at the last moment only you were in my head, then I understood how much I loved you, my dear brother. I found time to embrace Plaschev and Dourov, who stood beside me, and say goodbye to them. Finally, the trumpet sounded, those tied to the stake were brought back, and the official letter stating that the Tsar had pardoned our sentence was read to us.”

Respected, great Dostoevsky!

We carefully and attentively read your masterpieces, each a unique jewel adorning the crown of world literature: The Insulted and Humiliated, Notes from the House of the Dead, Notes from Underground, Crime and Punishment, The Gambler, The Idiot, Demons, The Adolescent, The Brothers Karamazov. However, our minds are not yet enlightened! I would like to remind you that I am an admirer who had the chance to visit your cell where you were imprisoned in St. Petersburg.

Dear Master!

You too should not forget that educated people are still locked in cells, educated people are still isolated in cells, educated people are perhaps not taken out to be shot in the cold like you, but they carry the coldness of death and loneliness in their hearts with pain.

Great Dostoevsky! In your work The Idiot, you touch upon the difficulties of living as an honest person, expose how corrupt and hypocritical society is, and say, "To be honest in such a world is to be an idiot." I regret to say that not much has changed with the passing of time. As we enter 2022, we continue to be idiots.

Dear Master!

In your books The Adolescent and The Brothers Karamazov, you shed light on the relationship between father and son, summarize the conflict of values between two generations, and convey to us how the father disregards his son and how the son, succumbing to hatred, kills his father.

Master! So much time has passed, but life, like a still lake, continues everything unchanged… Fathers still ignore their children, children full of hatred still wait ready to kill their fathers… Sibling jealousy still gnaws at hearts, slanders still circulate from one end to the other… You would say that humankind lives only to deliver a fatal blow to a sibling…

My heart holds a special place for your book Notes from Underground; believe me, what is written there makes me forget everything… The hero of the novel confesses, "I am a sick man!"

In my Turkey, for decades, cruel tortures, unjust trials, broken families, refugee lives in foreign lands, unsolved murders, forbidden languages and identities… Master, let my confession stay with you: The troubles I witness, the rebellious minds, increase every day… Now I too am a sick man in the middle; I am helpless, my heart is in deep sorrow.

GORKY

Ah, Master! It's a good feeling to remember you now… Because labor thieves are at work; everywhere, at every step, they are before us… Working now means the same as perishing. The money earned evaporates into thin air before you even touch it.

You were orphaned at 11 with the early death of your parents, but humanity is now helpless and orphaned, even with parents… Helpless, silent, just left in the middle…

We know you grew up with your grandmother's fairy tales. You were lucky. Nowadays, there is no one left to tell fairy tales, nor any patience to listen to them… Youth lives consumed by anxiety, "What will tomorrow bring?"; the fear of "Will I be able to bring bread home?" gnaws at parents… There's no time left for fairy tales or dreams, Master! Or were you luckier?

Respected Gorky!

How interesting it is that you wrote your book Mother, which describes the suffering of workers and the loyalty of a mother, in the heart of capitalism, in America. How beautifully you depicted the poor lives of Russian workers and the cruel husband. In the end, you left the mother and son alone, right in the midst of a cruel life… Both son and mother resisted injustice. One went to death without fear, the other to exile in Siberia… But there are no such children or mothers left in this world anymore… Fear has gripped souls, people cannot shout, neither in real life nor in dreams…

Silence… Silence… Only the faint, indistinct sound of marching boots can be heard from afar…

What can we say! Welcome, New Year!

I understand, Oh New Year, your job is hard! You need to revive extinguished hopes… But please don't forget, what we need, even if it's with crutches, is just a limping DEMOCRACY.