By Edward Limonov
May 1st, Day of Worker. 7:15 a.m. My bodyguard Konstantin have arrived. We are leaving my apartment, we walk along Gogolevski boulevard, empty under the morning sun. Seven in the morning is an hour of a real man, all bitches are asleep in warn beds.
At 7:40 we entering our "bunker," - party headquarters near Frunzenskaya. There are a few dozens of party militants, preparing our flags, slogans, newspapers, checking megaphones. I feel some anxiety, as always just before action. But today my worry is higher. The trouble is that our political ally Victor Anpilov suddenly announced yesterday that his organization will march with our enemy Zyuganov in one column to Teatral'naia Plaza, not to Vassilievski Spusk with us, as we originally intended. Looks like betrayal to me.
Part of my boys leaving earlier, in order to bring flags to Lenin's sculpture in front o f metro Oktiabrskaia. So, our sympathizers will see flags and flow under them. Me and the rest of militants march along Moscow river and cross it through Krimski Bridge. Bands of policemen are present everywhere in quantity, which will be enough to suppress military "coup d'etat," not speaking about few hundreds of youth. Walking, we curse at senseless behavior of our ally Anpilov, his unreasonable move towards Zyuganov now at the moment when Zyuganov's popularity is lowest. On April 24, Zyuganov's party have proved again its cowardness, when some of its deputies in Parliament have voted for appointment of Yeltsin's man Kiriyenko to premier-ministership. Why, Victor Ivanovich Anpilov, you are giving Zyuganov your hand now, why helping him to get up? Zyuganov's electorate would be our electorate in a year or so. That is political suicide, Victor Ivanovich. Are you crazy, Victor Ivanovich?
Lenin's sculpture is surrounded by people. Our flags, red with white circle and black hammer and sickle in it are very visible from a distance. We are joining our comrades of party. We are only youth organization, few hundreds youth amongst old and very old supporters of Trudovaia Rossia and KPRF. Why all such a different movements are having Lenin's sculpture as mutual starting point for their manifestations? Old habit, born somewhere in 1992, when opposition was united.
I take megaphone, I speak to my people, I explain the situation in Russia and today's trouble, where comrade Anpilov have put National-Bolshevik party. Actually he betrayed our mutual agreement, he betrayed us and Terekhov's Officers' Union. "As to Zyuganov, he is opportunist, fake opposition, fake communist," said I. "Russia have enough of Zyuganov," said I, "New commanders should lead opposition, if old commanders brought us to defeat." Old supporters of KPRF are angry at me. They angrily shout at me, few trying to come closer, maybe to hit me. Not easy to do so, as I am surrounded by my boys, but if all that crowd will attack, we will be in trouble. Crowd is extremely hostile. I am howling some mutual for them and for us slogans: "Capitalism is Shit!" "Lenin, Stalin, Che Guevara!" "Good Bourgeois is Dead Bourgeois!" It helps little bit, nevertheless hostility towards us is mounting. It is totally unfair, because we are fidel and loyal, we are fulfilling our obligations towards Anpilov. That is he, who left us to go with Zyuganov. Anpilov speaks to his crowd, he even didn't come to speak to me... Strange manners.
Enormously popular punk-singer-living-legend Egor Letov is joining us, he arrived with his musicians of "Grazhdanskaia Oborona." Sergei Troitski ("Spider") of "Corrosion of Metal" is also with us.
9:30 a.m. Surrounded by police, two police cars ahead of us, we are leaving. Lonely, young and courageous column, misunderstood and betrayed old Russia. Only few hundreds of us.
Moscow is silent. Streets are completely empty. We are screaming our preferred slogans: "Capitalism is Shit!" "We Hate the Government!" "Revolution!" and dozens of other slogans, born on this very minute. Angry and crazy, lost legion we arrive to Vassilievski Spusk, we establish our backs to church of Vasili Blazhennii. I start the meeting...
At noon everything is over. Miner from Vorkuta, National-Bolsheviks from Australia, officer from Ukraine and tens of native National-Bolsheviks have made speeches, Egor Letov and Alexander Nepomniashei have signed. Dusty and sunburned comrades of party we are crossing Moscow towards "bunker." Police car are convoying us openly. We are a menace. Near metro Station "Park of Culture" I stop to get a beer with a miner from Vorkuta, enormous man, called "General." Back in our "bunker" we speak of course of Anpilov. What have we do with him. We need him, as he is only political ally we have, however to forgive him treason...
18:15 p.m. I and leader of Moscow's party organization Andrei Fiodorov we move to a club at Leningradskii Prospect 24-A, where Letov's band will play. Place is worming with punks drunk and happy and angry. As we walk through them, some trying to tear my leather jacket for souvenirs. They have not succeeded. I am known amongst them no less than Letov.
At artists' room Letov's musicians are coping with a strange fear, drinking vodka. Letov is wearing my present a T-shirt with Che Guevara's face. I drink also, but feel nothing. I cannot relax. Letov is asking that I will announce the opening of his concert. We are mounting on stage together. Punks are screaming as wild beasts. I shout at micro: "We have had a Great Empire! We have had 1945 in Berlin! We have had generalissimo Stalin! Our enemies are happy today! Lenin had succeeded! We will succeed also! For our Soviet Motherland! Egor Letov!"
Concert is going violently. About a few hundred times crazy punks jump on stage, in order to reach Letov. National-Bolsheviks (half-naked, tattooed) guarding the stage push them back on the crowd's heads. However they succeed to tear Che Guevara T-shirt on Letov. Egor throws it into the crowd.
21:30 p.m. I leave with eight or ten of my boys surrounding me. (Barefeeted,) drunk and apparently very crazy type wants something from me. I only understood that he is from Crimea. We walk down Leningradskii Prospect, the type is at my back screaming, "Limonov, I wanna talk to you!" He pushed through my boys. Finally we are obliged to stop him. One of my boys hits him - face into the tree. Silence.
We are buying some beers and walking through Moscow. We buy beers again and again. When it is almost midnight my boys walk me home. I go to bed alone. No woman. I spend my May Day holiday without woman. It was though, hard and courageous day.