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Automatically translated version. May contain inaccuracies compared to the original.
Ukraine is buzzing, debating a very important incident: how a serviceman of the Armed Forces of Ukraine grabbed a 13-year-old teenager by the ears. The best, kindest, and most humane among us, of course, insist that you must never touch a child, under any circumstances, no matter what stones they might be throwing (to those people I sincerely wish they test their patience in practice when a teenager throws a stone at their car, their window, or their child). The most caring and parentally inclined shout that they would strangle such an abuser with their bare hands for the sake of their own child.
I suspect that at the same time the most reasonable among us wondered (as I did): okay, all this is noise, social-media emotions, but what would such people actually do in reality? And you're in luck: I can tell you from a real example!
One of those magnanimous outraged men, after drinking his “brave water,” stumbled to the post of the mobile fire team where my husband is on duty. He came and angrily asked, “What the hell are you soldiers doing standing here? Get out of here, I have children living here… You have no business here! What are you even doing?!”
For better understanding, I'll clarify that this is a frontline area, and KABs, rockets, and drones of all types fly at the town around the clock. The man stands there next to a heavy machine gun—to cover the local gas stations from large drones. In his hands he holds a shotgun—to protect himself and the machine gun from small FPV drones. So it's not hard to guess why he is needed there.
The question is rhetorical; the man guesses (he’s generally perceptive about many things). And he answers in the same rhetorical tone: we do what needs to be done, but why did you come running here—that still needs to be figured out. Here the man begins to tell him that our soldiers have become inhuman, that in Odesa they’re even abusing children. And he, for his children, stands like a mountain! He will shoot everyone to protect his kids. So he came to explain to my husband not to even dare to harm the children.
My husband generally agrees with protecting Ukrainian children. He joined the Armed Forces for precisely that reason. So their values supposedly match with this man’s. Therefore my husband asks happily: “And where does such a brave warrior fight? In which brigade? Maybe we crossed paths at the front? Or have you already finished fighting and are resting with a wound?”
“No, I’m not for the army! I’m not a killer! My mother didn’t give birth to me so I would kill people!” the drunk man proudly declares. (It’s unlikely his mother gave birth to him so he could harass soldiers on a combat post while intoxicated, but that’s a minor point; let’s not split hairs).
“And I have fought and killed,” the man sighs. “So you better get out of here, man, before you get your neck dealt with.”
Then the visitor begins to argue that he is a citizen of Ukraine, and thus is exercising his lawful civil rights. It’s an interesting topic—how many fantastic rights have appeared to the Ukrainian people recently: the right to be intoxicated and vandalize in public; the right to shout at people; the right to assault servicemen; the right to cross the border illegally; the right not to hear Russian; the right to slander with impunity and without evidence... Whatever pops into our heads at the moment becomes a right, roughly speaking.
But back to the guest. My husband, tired of the drunken ravings, non-rhetorically sends the man packing. The guest leaves. And soon returns. Even drunker, but now with a couple of bottles of beer under his arm. He offers to share them together as a sign of reconciliation. With the killers, then, whom he intends to protect his children from by tearing them apart with his bare hands—but not to death, because his mother didn’t give birth to him for that. Quite a Ukrainian “Kafkaesque” situation.
Of course, nobody wants to drink with him. So the man gets offended again and repeats the same tune: “You’re killers, and I’m not… my mother didn’t give birth to me for that… but I will tear everyone apart for my children… TCC—degenerates… I have the right… why aren’t the deputies’ children fighting?! Shoot them all! And I am against killings… enough of fighting for Zelensky…”
He’s a nuisance, overall. Buzzing. Plus—who knows why he’s actually hanging around there, what he’s looking out for and for whom he’s collecting information. So my husband says thoughtfully to his partner: “Listen, what’s the address here? Tell me the address, please…” He doesn’t even say the word “police.” But the brave man already starts backing away saying: “E-e-e! Why the cops? We don’t need cops!” And my husband even takes the shotgun in hand, to be more convenient (well, purely rhetorically), and sternly adds: “We’ll sort this out now, our human-rights defender… Stop! Where are you going? Stay right there!”
I’ve never seen drunk people run across rough terrain with such grace, skill, and speed in my life. Pride in our drunks! He probably ran to defend the children, since the parental instinct in such people is especially strong, especially when tipsy...
A discerning reader will ask: okay, there’s some dark humor here, but where’s the promised positive?! Here it is, a sea of positivity! First, no one tore this man’s ears; everyone restrained themselves, everything was humane, peaceful, and within the law, as people demanded. Second, such degenerates harass regularly but still not often—only a few incidents a month. Meanwhile dozens of people pass by him every day—thanking them for their service, for protection, for covering, and bringing small gifts: a watermelon, baked goods, ice cream, and children sharing candies and seeds rather than throwing stones.
Third, I have a few more urgent collections of medical supplies needed promptly. So if you want positive change and positive efforts rather than mutually rotten rhetoric on social media, here’s your chance—join the collection for medicines for the 151-th reconnaissance battalion and others. I would write “and don’t be degenerates, please!”, but that’s up to you.
Source: Taya Naidenko / Facebook
Document: PDF proof of the original version of the news item ""Якого ви тут стоїте, вояки? Нехай діти депутатів воюють"". It records the publication content at the moment of the first scan, the preservation date and the source: Gordon.
