Взрыв

There was a bombing at the Domodyedovo Airport yesterday.  I was sorting papers in my flat at the school and flipping around between news channels.  I caught the end of the report, and I’m not sure if I didn’t understand completely, or if it was too early at the time to call it a terrorist attack.  I heard the word vzryv, or explosion, and assumed technical incompetence or something like that.   Later, I was back in my Moscow apartment, sitting in the kitchen, enjoying some scrambled eggs.  Kot was meowing loudy, Sveta was complaining about Kot loudly, and then she said– there was a terrorist attack today.  To have it delivered like that in person kind of freaked me out, and I went to read about it right away.

I was talking with my dad about this yesterday, and I told him that I don’t get the impression that Russia’s problem with terrorists from the lands in the south is going to be over any time soon.  But I know fairly little about the issue.  I’m mostly just going on what I see–Russians are afraid of Chechnyans, and there’s so much hostility and volatility… they see someone who looks like they’re from the North Caucasus, and they expect them to be violent, unpredictable, to blow up at any time.

To conclude, I’ll borrow this excerpt from the NYT’s article, “After the Bombing, Business as Usual“:

“Ms. Vishnyakova, a petite woman cocooned in a puffy down coat against the cold, was traveling with Andrei Ivanov, a fellow member of a film crew flying to Kazakhstan for a shoot.

“’I am afraid,’ Mr. Ivanov said to her. ‘The only reason you are not afraid is because you are a fatalist.’

“’Most people are fatalists,’ she responded. “’Aren’t they the same in America?'”

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