Is Journalism Worth Dying For__ Final Dispatches - Anna Politkovskaya [214]
Throughout her life Anna made few demands on her surroundings. She had neither the time nor the money to furnish her new flat on Lesnaya Street, an address which has now unhappily become so famous. She dressed tastefully but simply and was uninterested in jewellery or expensive clothes. The handle of her favorite black bag, which went along on her numerous assignments in Chechnya, was bound round with sticking plaster, and immense efforts were needed to persuade her to buy a new one. There was a hole of unknown origin in the side of her beloved Zhiguli, but she did not want to buy a new car. She liked learning to cook new dishes and would scrupulously, step by step, carry out all the instructions in a recipe. Unfortunately, she had no time and could not be bothered cooking for herself. The only foods which were invariably to be found in her home were honey, cheese, rolls and tea.
We spent the whole of our lives within sight of each other, but it will remain a mystery to us how Anna managed to exist in two parallel worlds: in our familiar life, which is the life most women live, and in the life of an investigative journalist, writing mostly about politically sensitive matters, about society’s imperfections, as responsive to the pain of others as to her own, making every effort to improve the lot of at least one person. In her “civilian” life Anna devoted a lot of time to her children and was a real friend and adviser to them. She often dropped in for a chat, and we would sit in the kitchen, drinking endless cups of tea and talking about everything in the world, but trying to avoid mentioning that other life. Anna was a marvellous conversationalist. She could tell a story vividly, and was an attentive listener. You could always turn to her for help. When my son was born she left the guests who had come to her birthday party to run over to the maternity hospital and leave me a note of congratulations. (It was before the era of mobile phones.) Anna could not bear irresolution and spinelessness. She greatly valued personal freedom. She was a complex person, but we always knew that we were living with an icon.
Anya was … It is impossible to become reconciled to that past tense. The pain of loss is something we have yet to come to terms with. For now it seems that Anna has again flown out on an assignment, and that soon our answering machine will pass on her favorite message, “Hello, this is Anya Politkovskaya. I live just across the road. Call me.”
Unfortunately, there is no reaching her now by phone, but she is constantly in our thoughts. We miss you so much, Anna.
A Woman of Integrity Zoya Yeroshok, Columnist for Novaya gazeta
We were not close friends, but when we met we talked at great length, usually after Anna returned from an assignment. She would tell me about the people she was describing at that moment. She spoke of them in great detail but very unemotionally.
Her office was a reception room for the whole of Russia, and there was invariably some person in trouble sitting there. Anna would listen to them for hours, questioning them, rescuing them from difficulties, giving them back their life. In Novaya gazeta’s office I only ever saw her working, never just drinking coffee in the bar or chatting idly.
Anna was a pure, honest and fearless journalist, absolutely selfless and original. In the seven years she worked for Novaya gazeta she published more than 500 articles, and of these more than 40 resulted in criminal charges being brought or trials reviewed.
Her words had a different specific gravity from even the very best words in the very best order. They cast a shadow, probably because they had the power to redeem or expose. Mostly, they redeemed, despite her many critical articles, because Anna always remembered who she was writing for and what she was writing about. She never wrote just for the sake of it.
She was a journalist