very good. thank you, alexander. i would like to point out that the president’s speech contained a very deep, profound description of the process of changing elites. he said that in place of the elite that built its wealth in the nineties on the collapse of the state, which could only steal and lie, there should be a completely new elite from the front, people who shed blood for their homeland, people of a completely different orientation. and here, in fact, there is a very interesting sociologist, german, classic, werner sombard, he said that there are two types societies, one is ruled by merchants , the other is ruled by heroes, helden unheller, hegel , in turn, said that the state is created by the brave class, it seems to me that putin is actually opening up a new horizon, how to restart the state, based not on the commercial, trading principle, on the class of those people, like... uh, king georgievich

quite rightly said that from the front they bring a different one, a different style, a different existence, when a person sacrifices his life, a different value system opens up for him, it absolutely cannot be measured by money, because no amount of money can save life, not somehow be balanced by it, here is the very question, the second thing is that these people come here, they of course must get an education. conditions, but you noticed a very true thing that when they come to our existing educational institutions, which have just been destroyed by the last thirty years of liberal reforms, and educational institutions, they will be faced with something completely different from what is needed, firstly, for our society, we need for them, what and what will allow by and large, to turn them into real representatives of the new state class, we need to suit them, we urgently need to change... the educational system, because

when they come in response to some imposing professor, a russophobe, who is accustomed here to ironize the attitude of the russian people , russian identity or patriotism or the word russian itself, so they will encounter people who sacrificed their lives for these values, for these words, for these ideals and went through such a cruel experience of war, then it may be too late, i would like such people characters who...

i feel that there will be a clash of these two principles, our president chooses the class of brave men, he chooses a new elite, he opens, gives the green light to those patriotic reforms in society that are long overdue, this is a very serious turning point, at my opinion, and the way the president described it, how he contrasted these two types of elites. i think this indicates that he is very responsible, this is not just a declaration of a process that is inevitable in our society, so i i rely on this elite, but it must be trained by other people, people with a patriotic consciousness, people who are related to this class of heroes, this, this brotherhood of our people who are really saving us now , saving the world, in fact. president john

f. kennedy, shortly after he assumed office in 1961, he famously said. with part of the practice in america, but kennedy himself, as we know, was killed. when you look at the elite of the nineties, well, frankly speaking, it was not formed on the principle that

you want and can, you are already doing it for the state, the criteria were completely different. you know, to some extent russia has returned to the period.

can carry out, this will be a truly historical task, and this is not a direct conscious consequence of a special operation, but this is the situation when some difficulties in life, when some challenges

to the state open up before a truly great state, before a truly great people... these are very important and positive opportunities. it was a big game let's meet tomorrow on the air, the eighties are a hot spot like smallpox. burned across all continents, these small cruel wars coexisted in asia, in africa, in latin america, everywhere these warriors fought a kalashnikov assault rifle with an american m16 rifle. i was there where the hands of the combatants clutched a kalashnikov assault rifle. in nicaragua,

together with a detachment of sandinistas, i moved north to the town of san pedro. north, made of huge stones on the very border with honduras. from honduras to nicaragua, the contros penetrated in small groups, they broke into villages, broke into san pedro del norte, killed the inhabitants, killed the militias who defended this town, on many houses hung mourning wines, twisted from mountain pine, stitched with mourning ribbons. sandinista detachments with huge bales on their backs, where explosive weapons were hidden, secretly crossed the border with honduras, they crossed honduras, got to el salvador, where there were battles on the san salvador volcano and the rebels

of the farabunda marti front fought with state government troops, i remember the current along the border of the stream. flowers, aluzar over the mountains, i was lying in a gomak, i heard the battle approaching, and then they tied up the killed kontros. they dragged the horse through the streets of the town, and women, widows, came out of their houses, carried out pots of ashes and halls, poured spit on the dead contras. in kampuchea in the jungle, i met a vietnamese who fought for 30 years, first with the french, then with the americans, and now here in kampuchea with the red khmers, we... i

sat on a captured american tractor , wrecked by the vietnamese near saigon, on the armor of the tractor , on his tower was still white the american white star, the emblem of the american army, and we were driving this tractor along the road battered by shells to the side. buddhist temple, from afar ankor seemed like a huge, dark meteorite that descended from heaven, on this meteorite, on its relief, the lord himself sent a message from heaven to people, telling how they should live, how they should build their earthly existence, when i drove up to the temple, i saw a wooden stand, a scientist with a red one, he was shot through with bullets, i touched the wall of

the brillev meteorite with my hands, which was carved on this wall. i saw that brelyev was talking about terrible battles, about executions, about torture, about beatings of men and women, and i thought that earthly atrocities were of a heavenly, cosmic nature, vongolia. i saw the festive parade, sitting on the podium , next to the rulers, with revolutionaries

dressed in spotted clothes, camouflaged, trucks were rolling past us in the square, rockets cut out of plywood, glued together from papier mache, airplanes, painted huge hydroelectric power stations and i had a dream floating by angolan... kind about their socialist future, and in the evening at a state government reception i saw the same revolutionaries, the men were in tuxedos with bow ties, their wives were in ball gowns studded with diamonds, in this society i was the only white one, i had too much whiskey and danced with a dark-skinned woman, the wife of a local minister, and before my eyes, on her dark... velvet shoulder, a blue diamond shone. in the south of angola, near the border with

namibia, i lived in novimbian camps rebels. and i saw how young soldiers were learning to blow up a high-voltage tower, planting explosives under the rails. in an underground hospital, yaril, like a surgeon, is operating on a wounded soldier who has returned from a campaign in a weapons workshop. under the trees lay piles of spent, damaged weapons: machine guns, pistols, grenade launchers, and kalashnikov assault rifles. in this hot african climate, birch stocks and stocks decayed and fell off, and russian birch was replaced by expensive species of african trees, mahogany, and ebony. mozambiques from south african republic.

i entered this crowd, i felt my young, strong, well-fed body , thousands of fleas were flying from the bodies of the unfortunate people standing in front of me, sensing fresh blood, i felt the fleas stinging me, drinking my blood, i felt shame in front of these unfortunate, deprived bread and drink for people,

behind the fence of the camp there rose long lumps made of stones... each glass was glassy and air was breathing, under these stones lay the dead, the hot stones evaporated the last moisture from them. on the mediterranean sea, on the fifth squadron , which was commanded by a wonderful naval commander, captain of the first rank selevanov, a consequence of the fleet commander , saw the bulk of the american aircraft carrier saratoga darkening in the distance in the iron fog , our scouts on the boat were following on the heels of this aircraft carrier, they were scooping up all sorts of rubbish from the sea , which fell from the aircraft carrier, sodden paper, bottles, some boxes, they hoped among this rubbish to find precious information that

would tell about the crew of the aircraft carrier, a small ship, equipped... with their small boat, they recorded the massive takeoff of aviation, transmitted information about the planes to the bek valley, where the soviet anti-aircraft missile regiments were stationed, when the israeli planes flew in, hoping to strike, they ran into volleys of soviet anti-aircraft missiles. these were not tour trips, this was the work of a writer. each

such trip was crowned with a book, in each of these books there was an action. an intelligence officer, but not one who obtained information about the disposition of troops, about communications, it was an intelligence officer who understood special metaphysical principles, leading to war, an intelligence officer who painted a portrait of war, for war, like a cruel scalpel, rips open the covers, and the deep, hidden core is revealed, in this deep core the essence of the event is revealed. such an intelligence officer is a writer. the writer is the intelligence officer of the lord god. with his imagination, his penetration, his metaphors, he penetrates into the deep essence of the war, which is more reliable than any intelligence data. trying to describe the war, i

dug a wolf hole where i captured the war, and then he pulled her out of this hole. and transferred it to my book, why? there is no definite answer to this question. i fought in angola, in mozambique, i had difficult assignments . i heard the world in his dying cry. that's why i scream at night. these military trips not only increased the library of my geopolitical novels, they increased my collection. butterflies, local wars that stained the world took place in mudflows, in jungles, in shrouds, in swamps, among the fiery vapors of the oceans, only a blind man did not see butterflies there, butterflies did not notice explosions and flying bullets, they lived at the roots of huge trees, they nested on their

huge celestial peaks, lived in quiet silver grasses, rested on wondrous african flowers, they were like quiet , wordless gods, where each reigned in his own reserved palace... i caught them with a large white net, on which flower pollen remained, the prickly seeds of plants, the droplets of juice that a dying butterfly emitted, the butterflies that filled the glass boxes that decorated my moscow house were not just entomological copies, they were pages from my war diary, slides from my war reports, with each butterfly... i have an associated military episode, or a political character, or a collision, which i remember now in moscow, when i

look at my collection on the long winter moscow nights , i remember forgotten faces, shaking along the potholes of african roads, the caustic finger of african flowers, the blue of the ocean from... the chest green of volcanoes, the endless colorful tints of marvelous african savannahs, butterflies, spotted, with silver veins. he took his hands directly from the smoking bomb craters that were left by south african impala or kakanra bombers flying over the numbian camps. butterflies are relic creatures. they remember the young earth, when young volcanoes smoked and spewed gases on the earth, and now these butterflies sat on the smoking craters, drank these gases

and drank. other azure butterflies, like the robes of rublev's angels, fell into my net in nicaragua, uriococa, near the town of baspan, all the inhabitants left this town, frightened the wars abandoned their horses to the mercy of fate, a detachment of sandinistas settled down in the abandoned town hall, huge malaria mosquitoes flew from the river through the broken windows and painfully stung the soldiers, the soldiers lit fires right on the floor of the town hall and used smoke to drive mosquitoes out of the barracks, but at the same time they began to choke from the smoke, they coughed, opened all the windows wide and mosquitoes again filled the barracks. at night, behind the walls of the barracks, horses could be heard stomping and neighing, then

a gray herd of horses was chasing back and forth through the city , i caught one butterfly, fiery yellow with a black stripe capuchas in the roadside forests, a butterfly was fighting in my net, and an exhausted, war-torn tribe of people was moving past along the road. insect catcher, was also a scout , i act, they say that paganel, the legendary one, killed thousands of butterflies and thereby committed

thousands of atrocities, but maybe, when i ’m gone, my children will open the glass boxes, open the windows, and the butterflies will fly out in all their colors from my house they will fly back to africa. to asia, to latin america, to the jungles, to the jungles, i will take my places at the roots of tall trees, on their peaks, on divine, african flowers. but my main war is the afghan one, the afghan campaign, which took place with my army from the very beginning to the end, from end to end. in my novels and stories, i glorified the fortieth army, heroic, honestly, this army, slandered, thrown into mud, consigned to oblivion, left one country, which saw off into battle with victorious ... exclamations, with

flowers, applause and orchestras, returned to another a country where she was greeted with gloomy, unkind glances, mud and slander, she, who survived the gendukusha gorge, was defeated here, in gorbachev's perestroika russia, without taking the oath, the finnish moscow, lep grenadier regiments, as well as the guards crew , will enter the square. before the senate. cheers, konstantin. hurray, constitution. and sergei petrovich trubetskoy will give the order. he doesn't want to listen, so i'll force him. get things in order. we will arrest the senators. let's capture the earthly palace, the main headquarters, what else is there. he will die, but he will not leave. are you ready to die for me. they won't dare shoot. union.

salvation, big premiere, tomorrow after program time, they broke into the bank, three of them in masks, started beating, shooting, it was very scary, in donetsk they robbed a private bank, cleaned out your cells, viktor fedorich, find it , you will take this case for yourself, this is a chance, you will move to the major league, lieutenant colonel .

the americans are bringing a lot of weapons here from poland, we’re going with torches to the maidan , you’re going to shoot the dead man, i won’t give such a command, transfer it through the maidan, the premiere, soon on the first, there is information that they want to liquidate you, we led troops to afghanistan, namely because now we create military fist. on the border of tajikistan and afghanistan, fearing that hordes of terrorists would pour in on us from there. we led troops to afghanistan because even then the americans began to build their grandiose plan for the development of soviet central asia. they spawned secret mosques throughout the republics and fanned the fire of islamic intolerance. we left afghanistan, and then left tajikistan,

kyrgyzstan, and turkmenistan. kazakhstan, we left uzbekistan, from armenia, georgia, azerbaijan, we became current, the republic of the north caucasus, we left the east, leaving space, which grew to russia through the efforts of great commanders, great intelligence officers, great politicians. surprisingly, a tragic song composed in those years, we are leaving the east. we're leaving, we're leaving. i came to afghanistan for the first time in those days when it turned out that samin’s court was still smoking, son-in-law in the assault by our special forces. on the stairs along which the storming wave rolled, there were bloody bandages, empty horns from machine guns, torn grenade rings, everything was strewn with shrapnel, beaten by bullet hits, on the third floor where it was lying

bloody... the islamic revolution in afghanistan and tanks fired direct fire at snipers holed up in mud houses. pea-sweeping fighter jets flew over evening kabul, as if they were lashing the city with whips. in the midst of the pea-shaking city, not far from the hotel, i saw a huge

chenara offering up its blood. i was received by the commander of the mountain rifle battalion, valentin glushko. he settled me at a small outpost of samida in a fortress on the edge of the gorge. endless columns of liquid tanks, trucks with rockets and bombs. the mujahideen went out to the gorge and made ambushes. mujahid was set on fire using heavy machine guns. the tanks exploded, the column was on fire, the tank moved the burning tank off the road, overturned it into the abyss, then fell into the river with a roar, it burned in the water, hot diesel fuel floated along the river, dear battalion commander glushko,

i remember your courage, your rage, your love to the soldiers, then, when we met you, two armored personnel carriers had already burned down under you, and then two more, up there to the tunnel where yours was located headquarters, from my camp flask, i poured a few drops of cognac into your steering wheel, and we drank to the friendship that is indissoluble to this day, do you hear me, people selflessly in afghani, in the pansher gorge, which leads up from the lowlands, to the nest the legendary pansher lion akhmat shah masud, i met

the commander of the fortieth army, igor nikolaevich rodionov, he went to the front line for the first time after taking office, in this place pansher was shot down by the mujahideen. afghan army posts and straddled the road, they occupied a fortified area in the rocks, in caves, where their heavy machine guns were gone. i saw how the general leaned in the adobe buildings towards the wounded and killed of our soldiers. i saw how he stared for a long time at these exhausted, suffering bodies, as if he accepted their pain, as if he took responsibility.

i visited the rigestan desert, red, sandy, like the martian surface, the desert over which alexander rutskoi once flew on a plane, carrying out a secret mission, beaten by pakistani planes. the russian was captured and hung on on the rack, endured all the torments of captivity, endless caravans with weapons moved through this desert from pakistan, together with a group of special forces, we rummaged over these sands

as a search caravan, descended and ran along these hot hot sands, to where the camels stood, and next to they were black , burnt, drivers in snow-white clothes, soldiers running up to the camel, sticking ramps, bags hanging on the humps of the camels in search of weapons. the drivers, lowering their long whip-like arms, silently watched the helicopter rotors sparkle above them. herat, pottery, red, with high minarets resembling elephant trunks, sparkling tiled mosques. a column of combat vehicles , having deployed their cannons like a herringbone, was drawn into the divanchi area, into a narrow pottery street where the mujahideen were holed up, i became deaf from the impact,

a landmine exploded under a mine clearing combat vehicle and tore off an iron roller, there near herat during the fighting i met viktor petrovich polinichko, the main party adviser.

watermelon flesh, i remember, thrown on the tables,

gnawing watermelon rinds and wet bayonet knives, fortieth army, today is your honor is being restored, and let the soldiers fighting today near bakhmutov or in zaporozhye, returning home, see that they are met by the president, and women bring flowers to them to meet them, i believe that when the time comes... when they leave their homeland of adversity, it will pass on red square parade, gray-haired soldiers of the afghan campaign. let the rusty body of an armored personnel carrier be dragged in front of the saluting line, the tin cut by its fire, blown up on the puncher’s stones. let the guard stand solemnly, let them lower their battle flags when they bring a helicopter into the square, with a wasted tank without screw it up.

built into the monolith, now it suddenly

moved, moved, crumbled , under my window on pushkin square there were rallies day and night, monarchists, cadets, socialist revolutionaries, nationalists, radical communists, anti-semites, aliens, messengers from other worlds, resurrected from the dead, spoke at them , all this swirled, made noise, quarreled, discussed articles from the moscow news or from the ogonyok magazine, i walked among these crowds as if scalded, trying to find their deep meaning in the depths of these phenomena. perestroika conducted by gorbachev and his faithful ally, alexander yakovlev. perestroika operated with the concepts of democratization and glasnost. glasnost gave birth to information flows, drawing. the soviet state as something monstrous, abnormal, inhumane, these

flows weakened or completely washed away people committed to states, democratization presupposed free, uncensored elections, when, instead of discredited statists, fierce anti-sovietists burst into politics, finishing off the powerless state, i saw how consistently... . all the codes, all the ideas on which the soviet state was based were destroyed layer by layer, the stagnant , bloody, inhumane party was discredited... state security, the anti-people army, the military-industrial complex were declared a vampire, drinking the juices from the people's life. the industry of the great factories was called the destroyer of chaste russian nature. the heroes of the civil war, these

countless anecdotes about chupaev, were ridiculed, the heroes and martyrs of the patriotic war were debunked. zoya kosmodemyanskaya, guardsmen, panfilov's men. young guard, even then , as i greedily read the democratic press and listened to the speeches of democratic speakers, intimate knowledge was revealed, knowledge about the secret codes on which the life of society and the state is based, the ruler who owns these codes uses them as a management tool, directs the people to feats of accomplishment , for a victorious march in history, if these secret codes fall into the hands of the enemy, he begins to crush and destroy them. he destroys them one by one, and the state begins to weaken and collapse. alexander yakovich was an expert in these secret codes. and he was an enemy. and being the ideologist of the soviet state, he suppressed

these codes and derailed the state. alexander yakovlev was looking for talented and bright publicists. journalists, put them at the head of publications so that they would develop the glasnost program, he invited me to his old square, into his office, at home, without a jacket, in a vest, with yaroslavl perch, treated me to tea, carefully, in a friendly way, probed me my opinion, revealed to me his plans, asked for advice on something , flattered me, charmed me, tried to bring me closer to him , when the audience was over, he hugged me and walked me to the threshold of his office, returning home from him, i wrote my article, the tragedy of centralism, where i revealed the deepest the meaning of perestroika, prophesied the imminent end of the state with catastrophic

consequences for the people. this article, published in the newspaper literaturaya rossiya, pushed aside my reputation for writing. traitors, they were bright, kind people who loved their country, they were inspired by new ideas, by our youth , how beautifully we will die, it wasn’t all that stupid, they certainly weren’t fools, the most amazing thing is that the young man who undertook to judge the destinies of russia in general, he didn’t know russian well, the most amazing thing , this is the equal

conviction of the parties that they are acting for the good of the fatherland, the emperor himself came out under let. to talk with his own subjects, of course, when nikita vladimirovich and his colleagues decided, let’s still show the way it was, the prose, the topic, of course, it’s grandiose, big history, decembrists, salvation union , today tomorrow, on the first, the largest youth event in the world, more than 2000 bright and talented young people from... all over the planet, building the future together, world youth festival 2024, closing ceremony, live broadcast on wednesday on the first, i saw how the same force created popular fronts throughout russia, i saw how

radical anti-soviet outbursts emerged simultaneously in different republics of the soviet union. an army was sent to suppress these surges, the alma-ata events, the fergana events , the events in vilnius, the events in tbilis, in armenia, these were outbreaks of autogenous gas, which cut off vast territories from the soviet union, in which an independent state was soon to emerge, at the same time the karabakh conflict occurred when they arose. .. acute interethnic relations between armenia and azerbaijan, and gorbachev was reported about this. gorbachev said that this is a matter for the republics themselves, and let them solve this problem. themselves bypassing the center, thus the center avoided solving these problems and left these problems to the mercy of national elements,

this is how the expulsion of azerbaijanis from the armenian kafan began, this is how the monstrous anti-armenian massacre in sumgait began, this is how stepanokert began to smoke, when a rifle regiment located by the soviets suddenly...

along the karabakh roads along with robert kocheryan, a karabakh nationalist who eluded arrest. we stopped at roadside taverns, and passionate, sincere robert kocheryan told me then: “russians are not capable of subtle intellectual work, they are not inclined to scientific discoveries, their destiny is ferrous metallurgy. we, the armenians in byurokan , unravel the secrets of the stars and explore cosmic radiation, i jokingly told him: you, robert, will certainly become the president of armenia, and i was not mistaken. i became friends with

an amazing, wonderful person, oleg dmitrievich baklanov, the cosmic baklanov. minister, he organized the work to create a great space complex, energy buran, paid for the implementation of this project. thousands of scientific institutions of russia, factories, mines , institutes, he created this miracle unknown to the world, launched it into space, when we met him, he was already the secretary of the central committee, supervised all law enforcement departments in the defense council, and he gave me an interview in his office on old square, while we were talking with bakhlanov, a photojournalist walked around us and took many pictures, my thoughts on... the tragedy of the country seemed important to baklanov, he took me on his private trips to defense enterprises in the urals and siberia. we left with

him to afghanistan, listening to the complaints of the doomed jebul. in the western group of troops, they saw russian tanks being loaded on the platform, hurrying, as if running away , which until recently, during the protective days, were supposed to reach the pereneas, but were now setting off in panic into the depths of russia. they were unloaded in an open field, and there they rotted for decades, covered with grass and small trees. at the same time, gennady andreevich zyuganov came to me and suggested that i write an appeal to the party, to the people, so that people would wake up and stop the monstrous course that was pushing the country towards destruction. this appeal was called a word to the people. it was signed by several prominent soviet representatives.

chilli-standing men who have thrown off their military uniforms, students of academies and military schools. by order of yazov, they came to an anti-perestroika rally. our wonderful actor, mikhail noshkin, rises to the podium and looks for a long time at this huge silent crowd, and then suddenly jumps up to the entire square and shouts: “great, guys!” and the whole silent square... gasps and comes to life, instead of the insincere, sore soviet propaganda, suddenly a sincere,

fiery, popular, personal sound sounded, when i felt that maybe this was a sincere word coming from the heart, which is still missing in our current political speeches. i met pugo, a wonderful, noble man, i was in marshal yazov’s office when he was informed by phone about the fergana events. even before that i knew starodubtsev, visiting his wonderful farm under tuly. at one of the rallies i met kryuchkov, the head of the kgb, who seemed small and dry to me as a person, from the conversations that came to me from this environment, from hints, omissions, telephone conversations, i felt that something was brewing, lining up, taking shape, this is what would later be called the state emergency committee on the morning of august

ninety-one. .. tanks appeared in moscow, many gasped joyfully, thank god , the government has woken up, the troublemakers will be driven away, the union will survive, several inflamed, sleepless nights, i spent the day in the editorial office of my newspaper, i hope to get first -hand information from members of the state emergency committee, but that’s all the phones were silent, but the highest ranks of the political army called or showed up to my editorial office, and only on the night when the yazovo troops left moscow, the arrests of the state committee for emergency situations began, i realized that an irreparable disaster had happened, and someone’s crafty, omniscient mind had outwitted all those who were still

recently seemed to be the arbiter of state destinies, but in reality... they turned out to be dummies, they were already blown away by the wind of history. in the biblical book of the prophet daniel, during belshazzar 's feast, an inscription lit up on the wall: you are weighed and found too light. all members of the state emergency committee were weighed and found too light. and they were carried away by the draft of russian history. and that night, when the troops left, and the streets were empty and... there were still scars on the asphalt from the departed tanks, i then experienced unprecedented cosmic horror, incomparable to the fears that sometimes visited me during my military campaigns. it was the horror of the end of the world, the horror of the incineration of a huge historical time, the rolling up of everything that we called the soviet state, revolution,

war. great victories, great construction projects, great literature, great aspirations, all this disappeared and faded, and i, walking alone along the moscow streets, heard the rustling whistle of many strange wings, these were the red gods flying away from moscow, they were breaking through the kremlin wall with their beaks, the niches in which they stood. the urns were taken away forever. i heard their whistling flight, and i felt terrible. i came to baklanov in his office, in the central committee, 3 hours before his arrest. he walked around the office, from corner to corner, unshaven, tired, haunted, the machine slurped, turning secret documents into noodles, and i asked him what happened,

why...