The corpses, charred and partially dismembered, were scattered among a pile of rubbish on a plot along the edges of a forest. The ragged clothes residue stuck to pieces of leather. Who was a man, what a woman, what an adult, what a child – this could not be determined at a glance. An amputated leg, with a bad pull, was some distance away. This board was about 100 meters from a playground with swings and slides, nestled under a wooded shade. A Ukrainian forensic team, each member wearing blue plastic gloves, worked at a trained speed. They passed in front of a crash of journalists, fell under the film of the crime scene and hurriedly collected the pieces and placed them in black bags. Some mixing of parts seemed inevitable, so mixed were the corpses. The workers closed the bags tightly and lifted them up to be transported to the morgue. Dozens of corpses await burial in a cemetery in Bucha, on the outskirts of Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, on April 5, 2022. (Felipe Dana / Associated Press) This city northwest of Kiev, the capital, was a nice place to live, residents say. A romance of forests, ponds and parks. Bucha maintains a semi-rural atmosphere despite the inevitable progress of urban sprawl: shopping malls, apartment towers, health clubs. Now, Bucha has become notorious for what the Ukrainian authorities call the Russian war crime, a deadly spree aimed at civilians, some of whom were found with their hands tied behind their backs, apparently victims of summary executions. Video footage of the victims lying along a road shocked the world – and gave new impetus to the Ukrainians’ call for additional military assistance to fight the attack and more sanctions against Moscow. People were “killed in apartments, houses, blown up by grenades,” President Volodymyr Zelensky told the United Nations on Tuesday, adding that some were “crushed by tanks to civilian cars in the middle of the street.” For fun.” At least 417 civilian bodies have been found in cities in the Kiev region recently recaptured by retreating Russian forces, Ukrainian officials say. Who they all were, exactly how they got lost, are questions that remain under investigation as authorities try to locate the dead in a war that is in its second month. The story goes on Russia has denounced the scenes from Bukha and other nearby cities as fake – a “staged anti-Russian provocation,” according to Moscow Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov. Here in Buha and other suburbs, however, there is evidence that people, despite the collective outrage fueled by Twitter killing videos and satellite photos of troop movements, seem powerless to stop such atrocities. Officials are continuing to collect corpses from shallow graves, streets, courtyards and other areas – including the empty plot from which the six victims were evacuated on Tuesday. The remains of the six, as well as some other victims, were burned in a clumsy attempt to cover up the crime, authorities say. Ukrainian police transport one of the six bodies found in Bucha, a suburb of Kiev, on April 5, 2022. (Efrem Lukatsky / Associated Press) As they pick up the dead, officials and the army are also busy with another task: clearing the many mines, piles of unexploded ordnance and other ammunition left behind in Buha and other formerly occupied cities. Warning signs, “Danger: Mines”, are scattered in the area. Some buildings may be trapped, the military warns. But stray ammunition and equipment dumping garbage in the streets were not left behind on purpose. Their presence is a consequence of Russia’s glorious strike on the northern outskirts of Kiev and the subsequent withdrawal of its forces. Bucha is not just a cemetery for Ukrainians: It is also a cemetery for Russian military equipment, and probably the place where Moscow’s apparent intention to invade Kyiv quickly and occupy the capital sank. A street in Bukha bears violent evidence of the pounding of Russian material and the failed ambitions of Russian President Vladimir Putin. The scorched remains of about a dozen Russian tanks and armored personnel carriers, and at least one fuel tanker, mark an area of three plots in the city. The sheer scale of the devastation seems paradoxical on this tree-lined street, where chickens peck in adjoining yards. A twisted patchwork of ammunition, scrap metal, wire coils, pieces of tires, cartridge belts, tank tracks are scattered – a blackened tank turret sits in the front yard of a house. It is a scene of extinction, as if a fire-breathing giant had vented its rage by tearing machines with steel claws. The wreckage is the result of a Ukrainian ambush, with unmanned aerial vehicle raids, apparently just days after the Russian invasion on February 24. It is not clear how many Russian soldiers were killed in the attack and how many escaped. Among the ruins is a military boot with broken bones visible inside. Specialists have combed the scene, removing potentially dangerous ammunition. But journalists have been invited to walk through the wreckage – in a kind of surreal parade – and broadcast images of a cracked Russian column across the globe. The houses along this and other streets are mostly empty. For Bucha these days it is a ghost town. Most of the residents fled the Russian lightning, joining millions of other displaced people. The curtains flutter through the inflated windows of the high-rise apartments where no one lives anymore. Only about a tenth of Buha’s pre-war population, which was about 30,000, remains, said Mayor Anatoly Fedoruk. He has warned city residents to stay away until landmines and other hazards are cleared and power is restored. Ukrainians in Bucha, near Kyiv, await the delivery of humanitarian aid on April 5, 2022. (Efrem Lukatsky / Associated Press) Some residents looking for food and other assistance gathered outside a mall that had been hit by artillery and looted on Tuesday. Ball shells, shards and broken glasses fill the garden. A burned-out power plant was across the street, and its plight was far from promising for workers trying to recover electricity. Stray dogs fighting over food scraps in the empty parking lot of the mall. Many of the residents being pushed out were older. They could not or did not want to escape the Russian attack. They appeared on the street like ghosts bent over in the bitter cold. Many have been living without electricity, running water or heating for weeks. “I just want to warm up again – take a hot bath and be clean,” said a shivering 46-year-old Lisa Andresenko, who was among those lined up for help. “I feel forever since we were hot, we had a proper hot meal.” Snowstorms hit the shopping lane. Despite the circumstances, Leonid Mutnichenko, a 58-year-old retiree, was in a good mood. His family had a secret weapon: An ancient wood stove that he and his mother had almost thrown away, but now — without heating or electricity — was found to be very useful. He laughed at everyone’s cunning. He hurried to introduce his mother, 80-year-old Valentina Kusovkova, dressed in layers of shawls and coats. He did not complain about the cold. He had bigger thoughts: “We have to save our country,” he said. This story first appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
title: “Bucha Isn T Just A Graveyard Of Ukrainian Dead It S A Cemetery Of Russian Weapons " ShowToc: true date: “2022-11-06” author: “Dusty Tutt”
The corpses, charred and partially dismembered, were scattered among a pile of rubbish on a plot along the edges of a forest. The ragged clothes residue stuck to pieces of leather. Who was a man, what a woman, what an adult, what a child – this could not be determined at a glance. An amputated leg, with a bad pull, was some distance away. This board was about 100 meters from a playground with swings and slides, nestled under a wooded shade. A Ukrainian forensic team, each member wearing blue plastic gloves, worked at a trained speed. They passed in front of a crash of journalists, fell under the film of the crime scene and hurriedly collected the pieces and placed them in black bags. Some mixing of parts seemed inevitable, so mixed were the corpses. The workers closed the bags tightly and lifted them up to be transported to the morgue. Dozens of corpses await burial in a cemetery in Bucha, on the outskirts of Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, on April 5, 2022. (Felipe Dana / Associated Press) This city northwest of Kiev, the capital, was a nice place to live, residents say. A romance of forests, ponds and parks. Bucha maintains a semi-rural atmosphere despite the inevitable progress of urban sprawl: shopping malls, apartment towers, health clubs. Now, Bucha has become notorious for what the Ukrainian authorities call the Russian war crime, a deadly spree aimed at civilians, some of whom were found with their hands tied behind their backs, apparently victims of summary executions. Video footage of the victims lying along a road shocked the world – and gave new impetus to the Ukrainians’ call for additional military assistance to fight the attack and more sanctions against Moscow. People were “killed in apartments, houses, blown up by grenades,” President Volodymyr Zelensky told the United Nations on Tuesday, adding that some people in civilian cars were “crushed by tanks … in the middle of the street.” For fun.” At least 417 civilian bodies have been found in cities in the Kiev region recently recaptured by retreating Russian forces, Ukrainian officials say. Who they all were, exactly how they got lost, are questions that remain under investigation as authorities try to locate the dead in a war that is in its second month. The story goes on Russia has denounced the scenes from Bukha and other nearby cities as fake – a “staged anti-Russian provocation,” according to Moscow Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov. Here in Buha and other suburbs, however, there is evidence that people, despite the collective outrage fueled by Twitter killing videos and satellite photos of troop movements, seem powerless to stop such atrocities. Officials are continuing to collect corpses from shallow graves, streets, courtyards and other areas – including the empty plot from which the six victims were evacuated on Tuesday. The remains of the six, as well as some other victims, were burned in a clumsy attempt to cover up the crime, authorities say. Ukrainian police transport one of the six bodies found in Bucha, a suburb of Kiev, on April 5, 2022. (Efrem Lukatsky / Associated Press) As they pick up the dead, officials and the army are also busy with another task: clearing the many mines, piles of unexploded ordnance and other ammunition left behind in Buha and other formerly occupied cities. Warning signs, “Danger: Mines”, are scattered in the area. Some buildings may be trapped, the military warns. But stray ammunition and equipment dumping garbage in the streets were not left behind on purpose. Their presence is a consequence of Russia’s glorious strike on the northern outskirts of Kiev and the subsequent withdrawal of its forces. Bucha is not just a cemetery for Ukrainians: It is also a cemetery for Russian military equipment, and probably the place where Moscow’s apparent intention to invade Kyiv quickly and occupy the capital sank. A street in Bukha bears violent evidence of the pounding of Russian material and the failed ambitions of Russian President Vladimir Putin. The scorched remains of about a dozen Russian tanks and armored personnel carriers, and at least one fuel tanker, mark an area of three plots in the city. The sheer scale of the devastation seems paradoxical on this tree-lined street, where chickens peck in adjoining yards. A twisted patchwork of ammunition, scrap metal, wire coils, pieces of tires, cartridge belts, tank tracks are scattered – a blackened tank turret sits in the front yard of a house. It is a scene of extinction, as if a fire-breathing giant had vented its rage by tearing machines with steel claws. The wreckage is the result of a Ukrainian ambush, with unmanned aerial vehicle raids, apparently just days after the Russian invasion on February 24. It is not clear how many Russian soldiers were killed in the attack and how many escaped. Among the ruins is a military boot with broken bones visible inside. Specialists have combed the scene, removing potentially dangerous ammunition. But journalists have been invited to walk through the wreckage – in a kind of surreal parade – and broadcast images of a cracked Russian column across the globe. The houses along this and other streets are mostly empty. For Bucha these days it is a ghost town. Most of the residents fled the Russian lightning, joining millions of other displaced people. The curtains flutter through the inflated windows of the high-rise apartments where no one lives anymore. Only about a tenth of Buha’s pre-war population, which was about 30,000, remains, said Mayor Anatoly Fedoruk. He has warned city residents to stay away until landmines and other hazards are cleared and power is restored. Ukrainians in Bucha, near Kyiv, await the delivery of humanitarian aid on April 5, 2022. (Efrem Lukatsky / Associated Press) Some residents looking for food and other assistance gathered outside a mall that had been hit by artillery and looted on Tuesday. Ball shells, shards and broken glasses fill the garden. A burned-out power plant was across the street, and its plight was far from promising for workers trying to recover electricity. Stray dogs fighting over food scraps in the empty parking lot of the mall. Many of the residents being pushed out were older. They could not or did not want to escape the Russian attack. They appeared on the street like ghosts bent over in the bitter cold. Many have been living without electricity, running water or heating for weeks. “I just want to warm up again – take a hot bath and be clean,” said a shivering 46-year-old Lisa Andresenko, who was among those lined up for help. “I feel forever since we were hot, we had a proper hot meal.” Snowstorms hit the shopping lane. Despite the circumstances, Leonid Mutnichenko, a 58-year-old retiree, was in a good mood. His family had a secret weapon: An ancient wood stove that he and his mother had almost thrown away, but now — without heating or electricity — was found to be very useful. He laughed at everyone’s cunning. He hurried to introduce his mother, 80-year-old Valentina Kusovkova, dressed in layers of shawls and coats. He did not complain about the cold. He had bigger thoughts: “We have to save our country,” he said. This story first appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
