I used to feel ashamed. I was hosting my last (as we now know) talk show. It happened to be about the Duma's homophobic law. We live in a modern European country, yet we have a law woman wants nsa that divides people up into types and categories and says that the basis of the declaration on human rights is a. On one side there were the supporters of the law, and on the other, men and lesbians. The supporters were like me – well-groomed, well-fed, blasé and arrogant. The people, on the other hand, brought to mind a row of little sparrows on a frosty Siberian electric wire. And among them was a boy who looked very much like the one who was killed. Practiy single-handed he attacked the provincial gang of homophobes with the pride. And he was trounced. He had his face smashed, and on my programme. By a miserable ghoul just like me. A writer, I believe. I was in torment for several days. I would dream about this boy, I would him at the adjoining table in the cafe, I would imagine that the bus waiting by my car in a traffic jam was packed with these boys. And in the end I understood that I'd had enough of being afraid. Enough of feeling ashamed. I made a decision It became quite clear to me that I had to stand by this boy, if not against the world, then at least against those overfed scumbags. Together, it wouldn't be so frightening. The battle of Stalingrad took place 70 years ago in the town where Vlad was murdered. The battle decided the outcome of the. Nobody believed that outcome was possible. The fascists were stronger and more experienced. But the Russian people – not Stalin, not the marshals or the generals, but the whole people – understood that the time had come for courage. The alternative was unthinkable. The time has now come for me to be courageous. Our time has come. http: //