The distance between the houses that lost family members on May 13 amounts to a hundred meters or so. On several occasions we even encountered the ares where the murdered had lived literally next door to each other. There were benches there covered with color blankets, and families receiving condolences..."

Story 1. Bakhtiyor, born in 1986

I'm talking to his mother and family in the small patio. I see impoverishment around me. Speaking of her son, the mother weeps and laughs in turn. "His birthday was to be celebrated on May 15. Two days more and he would have been 18 years," she said.

Her name is Nigora, born in 1956, a housewife. Nigora had six children including two sons (one of them Bakhtiyor). Bakhtiyor was the fifth child, the other son a year his elder. Bakhtiyor worked whenever he found any odd job - he repaired apartments and was a menial worker at the nearby bazaar. Bakhtiyor came from a broken home (the parents had divorced), and the whole family lived on what the two sons earned. Two teenagers supported the family. Bakhtiyor and his brother each earned $2-3 a day, odd jobs being poorly paid. The mother does not get the pension, and grants to families with many children are history.

The larger family lives here two - the aunt and two little nieces. Three rooms and a veranda for the family. One outdoor faucet for 14 families, and one lavatory for all. This is how half of Andizhan is living.

"Firing began at 9 or 10 p.m. on May 13. People went out, watching the sky and thinking that it was perhaps fireworks or something. What fireworks?" the mother said. "Firing continued through the night - automatic rifle fire, machine guns, and even armored personnel carriers firing. Bakhtiyor with his friend left the following morning, I do not know where. He came back for lunch and went out again. He never returned again. His friends came on May 14, they told his brother that he was near the monument in front of the khokimijat (local administration seized by rebels). The brother brought him home at 2 p.m. He removed the rag the body was covered with and said that this was not Bakhtiyor. It was a horrible sight, all this blood. We identified him by sneakers only. We washed Bakhtiyor and buried him at Pista-Mazar, the cemetery where there already was a fresh grave..."

"Bakhtiyor did not even attend the mosque. He did not perform the namaz," the mother continued. "He worked all day long to support the family, he and his brother."

"Servicemen were murdering civilians," the brother said. "Bakhtiyor had two rounds fired at him - in the heart and right under it."

"They said they would leave noncombatants alone," the mother added. "How many teenagers have been murdered!"

The mother said she longed to find and punish whoever had murdered her son. Bakhtiyor's friends long for vengeance too.


Story 2. Tolib, born in 1972

He lived on May 1 Street, in a mahallja (an ancient housing project) among narrow winding streets and the duvals (fences of wattle and daub). Tolib left three children, the youngest of them only 6 months. His name is Rakhmatullo.

Says his neighbor, a carpenter who makes furniture.

Neighbor: We are all carpenters around here. We make furniture, working right at our places. When everyone was leaving the square and the firing began, plainclothes men were telling everyone to go home. We were here, in the mahallja. We went home too. Firing in the mahallja began after 9 p.m. that night.

"It was dark already, and soldiers fired at every moving object. A neighbor of ours thought he heard something and ventured out. His car was riddled with bullets, and he himself got a bullet in the leg," the neighbor continued. "When the firing intensified in the mahallja, Tolib went out to see how his relative fared. He lived next door. The house is divided, and the relative lives separately. Tolib visited the relative and was already returning when he was hit. Right there on the corner, you know. He was lying there, screaming for help. The relative wanted to get out but soldiers opened fire at the gates to his house and told him to remain inside. (You can see the holes bullets made in the wood.) Tolib was hit in the abdomen and in a leg. Had somebody helped him, he might have been alive now. Official at the cemetery refused to admit the body the following day. He said he needed a forensic certificate. "Get it from the morgue and come back," he said. We took the body to the morgue. They asked us then where the body was from and so on. "Soldiers shot him right near his own place," I said. There was a policeman there, a sergeant, who told me to come over. He led me to some office with four or five policemen in it. They beat me and said, "Never say anything like that again. If asked, say he was shot by terrorists. Got it?" "I'm sorry," I said. What else could I say? I'd have never been permitted to leave otherwise."

The man's face is certainly bruised now.

"I saw women lying there and kids," another neighbor who insisted on anonymity said. "No more bodies there. I don't know what happened to them. I saw trucks with my own eyes. You saw there pools of blood, brain tissue, slippers, didn't you? They were no terrorists, they were peaceful people returning from the rally who got fired at..."

"How will Tolib's family fare now?" I could not help asking.

"Allah knows."


Story 3. Akhmad, born in 1961

Akhmad lived in a mahallja.

"The night the prison was attacked and taken over, Akhmad was woken by Zikrillo, a friend of his and neighbor. It was at 2 a.m.," Akhmad's father'in-law said. "Akhmad and Zikrillo have been buddies since school. Zikrillo said he had a grandson. His son's wife had just delivered at the maternity hospital. Akhmad and Zikrillo cooked some milk soup for her and got into the car for the trip to the hospital. Akhmad was a cabby with a rented cab. There is a military unit quartered on Ashurov Street (former Krasnoarmeiskaya) not far from the hospital. Soldiers ordered the car to pull over right in front of the garrison and opened fire. Both were killed. Zikrillo Ayupov and Akhmad, they had been classmates once."

"I was looking for him all day long. Somebody told me finally that he had seen the car in front of the military unit and I went there at once," the father-in-law continued his story. "I saw the car there. "That's my son-in-law there," I said. "No way," they said. "They were escaped prisoners." What prisoners, when they were dressed the way they were, in ordinary clothes... I approached and did not even recognize Akhmad at first. More than 100 hundred bullets had hit the two men. The car was like a sieve. I knew then that soldiers had ordered the car to pull over and, when it did, opened up. Soldiers said... actually an officer said, that Akhmad had tried to escape, but that was a bunch of lies. Even a fool could see that. The car was a Tico, license plate 17 G 72-62. It was rented... I was denied permission to collect the body that day. They said some sort of document from the prosecutor was needed. And so the bodies remained right there, in the car in front of the military unit, for the following two days. The military was waiting for forensic experts and prosecutors. They eventually turned up, made some photos, verified deaths, and collected 60 or so spent cartridges. In fact, many more bullets had hit the car. So, the bodies were taken to the morgue (I helped with it), and I collected them from the morgue only afterwards. They were interred at Aisha-Khonum. Six others were interred at the cemetery that day. No, I haven't seen no women or children. They are not even interred properly, just taken somewhere and buried. And there had been the murdered..."

"The daughter-in-law, the one who delivered, is still there at the hospital. Akhmad left two girls and a son. He had driven a bus once. We do not have any factories or plants that are still working, and he decided to become a cabby. When he paid the daily rent, he was able to bring only 1,500 to 2,000 sums to his family ($1.5-2).

"They were ordered to pull over and shot. No papers were demanded and examined, no nothing. Had the military bothered to check the IDs, they'd have been alive now. They were shot and just left there..."

Akhmad's garden is full of tractional roses, like any other Uzbek garden. Red roses. There are red roses all over the city nowadays. Funeral wakes are taking place on almost every street. There are benches covered with color blankets with mourners on them. Everybody wears traditional clothes as a sign of mourning - the chapans (wadded robes) and tyubeteikas (embroidered skull-caps). Everybody expresses his or her condolences.

"His wife Nasiba is a housewife. No job, you know. It's up to me to support the family now," Akhmad's father-in-law said.


Story 4. Akmalzhon Mamarizayev, 32

"He had a throat problem. Spasms, you know. He could not swallow, and went out for his medicine in the evening. He died. A stray bullet... Our neighbors told me that... You'll have to excuse me, I'm not in the condition to talk anymore..." Akmalzhon father said.

"Was he killed in front of Chulpon movie theater?" - "Yes."


Story 5. Sandzhar Tursunboyev, born in 1938

Everything looks like it always does. A mahallja, an ancient housing project so typical of old Andizhan with its narrow streets where families have lived side by side for decades, if not centuries. Old men, sitting in the patio, brooding and sighing. Women are separated from men by a color cloth, whispering behind it how horrible it all is...

"There is Navoi Park in front of the khokimijat or regional administration," Tursunboyev's son Gafur said. "Father and his friend were standing on the sidewalk, talking. Military trucks appeared all of a sudden and soldiers opened fire. Without a warning or anything. They needed to clear the way... Father got behind a tree but a bullet hit him in the back all the same. He died at hospital that same day. The friend he had been with took him to the hospital, the Andizhan State Medical Institute. Father had two children, two daughters and two sons. My brother and I, we had been working in Russia. I came home but he stayed there. He did not have the money to come back. We had worked at a construction site in Novosibirsk."

"We were but taking a walk. There were lots of people all around," Tursunboyev's friend Yuldash-aka, born in 1939, said. "All of a sudden, there were screams "Run!, "Run!", and everyone broke into a run. Lots of noise and screaming, you know. We ran too. I do not even know where the bullet that hit him was from. A vehicle drove by, and there was firing. Then I saw him, prone on the sidewalk not far from me. He was conscious then. He said he could not feel his legs..."


Story 6. Timur, 19

Timur repaired cars helping his father. They had a tiny store selling dribs and drabs...

"He was a good boy," Timur's mother, 45, is weeping.

"He was in jail, on charges of theft (a computer and a TV set)," Timur's father explained. "Investigation was under way. He had been tricked, he had been told that the TV set was from Osh and asked to sell it. Timur was an honest boy, he always gave back whatever he had been given. When prisoners were being released, these Akromians told them "Go and do not steal, please." Only about 150 inmates were left inside, the last ones. They were not permitted to leave. They were told that they would be like a live shield if things deteriorated into a skirmish. There is a shoe-making factory not far from Saj, and they all were crammed inside. They escaped."

"Fifteen or so men were guarding them at the factory," the mother continued. "When soldiers were seen approaching, the men opened the doors and got out. Soldiers shot them all. Everybody was looking for their children. We did too, looking for Timur, hoping to find him and save..."

"Who told you that he had been killed at the factory?" - "Forensic expert at the morgue."

A neighbor: Soldiers shot everyone in the head and in the heart. To make sure, you know.

The father: He could have been saved, but they shot him instead.

A neighbor: Why did they want to be doubly sure? There were no survivors - not with bullets in the head. All witnesses were shot too.

The shoe-making factory is on Chulpon Avenue, a hundred meters from Chulpon movie theater, the part of the street where mass execution took place.


Story 7. Azizbek Rakhimov, born in 1980

Azizbek was killed in front of Chulpon movie theater.

"He was our nephew," his family said. "He left Adina, the wife, and daughter Rabia, 2. Adina is a housewife... At the morgue, it was like a real war had been fought. My nephew had a tag on his leg with a number - 313."



Story 8. Khamdam, 17

The mother (in tears): My young boy...

The father: All policemen say "Whoever says the word "war" will spend the rest of his life in jail." Khamdam played football. He had a lot of friends. He fixed tape recorders, repaired furniture. He also sat in a small store, selling chewing gum and all that.

A neighbor: He was a quiet boy. We all go to the prayer on Fridays. That was when I saw him last.

The mother: He never smoked or drank wine.

A neighbor: We did not see him after the namaz. He went to check some relatives who lived near Saj. That was where he was killed, near School 15.

(The tag clamped to Khamdam's toe by morgue attendants bore number 277. It was smeared with blood.)

The father: I saw an infant, 9 months or so, without a hand there in the morgue.

The parents say they saw a large hole in the young man's abdomen, apparently made by a large caliber bullet from a machine gun (mounted on an armored personnel carrier).

A neighbor: When they were leaving the square, soldiers took them in a ring and shot them right then and there. Nobody was spared. He was killed too.

Neighbors: We were talking a walk in the center at about 5 p.m. on May 13. We were four. A Damas car drove by. Soldiers opened fire at it near the traffic light. We saw it all, there were three people in the car. They died, and soldiers took them into the police station right away. Arrests are under way, men are being tortured at the city police headquarters. Young men do not dare go out... You can see with your own eyes how we live here. And the city prosecutor has a mansion right near the cemetery.


Story 9. Ulugbek, 15

Mahallja Yangi Turmush (not far from Chulpon movie theater)

"I used to have two sons, and Ulugbek was the eldest," his father said. "He was a cheerful boy. He liked football and all those exercises. We were building the house. He was helping me with heavy stuff when we heard some funny noises. Some cracking or snapping. Like the house was on fire, and the flames were making roofing slate split. Ulugbek went out after 5 p.m. and never came back. We tried to look for him but there was no electricity, there was firing. We could not find him. The following morning, my old woman said let's go and look for him some more. "Why would you go?" I said. "I'll go alone." We had heard by then about casualties, you see. There is a construction college over there (near the Chulpon), and there were about a dozen bodies scattered in the courtyard. Already covered. I recognized my son. He had two bullet holes in the back. There was no car available, somebody gave me a sheet and helped to take Ulugbek home. He was not all that heavy, being only 15. Nobody demanded any documents from us at the cemetery, there is a war after all. We do not even have a photo, not even the mandatory one for the passport. He was a pupil, not even out of school yet. The Last School Bell ceremony was to take place on May 25. Kids... They are ever curious, who is fighting, with whom... Besides, there were those rumors of some rally under way. We interred Ulugbek that same day. He was barefooted. He must have tried to run away and lost his slippers... He liked football. His school buddies get together and play... When we were carrying him, a woman correspondent approached and asked if we were carrying a woman. "It's a boy," I said. She looked at Ulugbek... "Do you have a camera with you?" I asked. "Go on, make a shot." But she did not have a camera. We put him in my father's grave at Busoddin cemetery."


Story 10. Yerkinoi, 33

"She was not exactly adequate," to quote her relative who refused to identify himself. "Got some marbles scrambled" is how people put it. She went out on Friday morning and never returned. She was found at the morgue on Tuesday morning. Nobody knows where she died or how. Yerkinoi has a brother who spent days looking for her and the mother who, herself sick, took care of her. The tag on her toe read 18. She must have been one of the very first to die."


Story 11. Rustam, 24

His family flatly refused to give the young man's true name. They were horrified of what the authorities would do to them if their meeting with journalists ever became public knowledge.

Rustam and his family lived in an apartment block in Severny district. We are in the apartment. There are no chairs and everyone is sitting on the kurpach (a wadded blanket), a meager dastarkhan (table cloth) in front of us with flat cakes, sweets, and tea. Lots of women, most in Moslem shawls, are in the room plus a young man in a white tyubeteika (embroidered skull-cap). Their Russian is inadequate, and Rustam's relative offers to translate. She refuses to identify herself either.

"Rustam did not have a job. There are no jobs to be had here. Why would people go to Russia? To earn money. Rustam was an invalid (2nd category), registered at the mental asylum not far from here. He was illiterate. He could neither read nor write. His mother a vendor, Rustam usually helped her with heavy bags. He got married a month ago. The girl is 24 (she is also here). Rustam's mother left for a new consignment of commodities - to her sister, you know - and he volunteered to help. Well, they all came back, he helped her all right, and then he went out with his friends. He was young, curious. All his friends were going somewhere, and he would not be left behind. We went with them. It was at 5 or 6 p.m. He never came back. We were worried sick. They found him not far from Chulpon movie theater with a bullet hole in his side."

The family would not give the name or address or part with a photo. "We will talk to you and they will execute us for it," they said. In fact, the family was in the state of terror by the end of our meeting. "What was the number on the tag?" I asked. The mother began gesturing wildly to the woman talking to us. The message was clear: do not say anything more. "Excuse us, but we are afraid," the translator said. "You'd better go to the street nearby were five were killed..."

We took our leave then only to be approached in the street by a neighbor. Before opening her mouth, the woman took a look around. "It was soldiers firing," she said, "but who can we say it to? Who will believe us? Everybody is afraid. Whoever talks to journalists disappears without a trace. A woman from the majalla talked to journalists the other day. They came for her yesterday. Just put her in a car and drove away, and nobody has seen her ever since." - "Her name, please?" - "No names. I'f afraid. What if somebody discovered that we talked..."

The woman only said that Rustam had never been taken to the morgue. Neighbors told the family where he could be found. It was at 3 a.m...


Story 12. Daniyar, born in 1983

I'm talking to Daniyar's father who is 50. He is sitting on the bench covered with a blanket in the patio. The father wears a black chapan (robe) and tyubeteika (skull-cap) in mourning. He has not shaved for days.

"These Wahhabi began it all on May 12," he said. "My son was but a spectator at the rally. He went there out of cuiriosity. Two bullets killed him, in the chest and in the mouth. This second shot took away half the head. It was not far from Chulpon movie theater. He did not come back that day but we never thought that he had been killed... I visited the morgue on Saturday. They found him there. Nobody there told me anything. It was his friends who said he had been with the crowd that was leaving the square. The tag bore number 305. The document (death certificate with the same number) I left with the mahallja committee (local self-government body). Daniyar was a good boy, hard-working. There are no jobs to be found here. I had three children. I have only two now, a boy and a girl."

Daniyar's passport was taken from the father at the morgue. It is as thought he has never lived...


Story 13. Sarvar (30) and Alisher (28)

This family lost two young men overnight.

"I had four children," the mother began, "two sons and two daughters. Both sons were killed. When it all began, Sarvar was at the rally on the square, and Alisher went out looking for him. One daughter went looking for them both on Saturday. She went to Saj (a district near Chulpon Avenue). Alisher was found by the drug store with a bullet in his arm and another in the heart. We found him in the morning. Sarvar was found in the morgue, tag number 244. We do not have the tag anymore, and we left the death certificate with the mahallja committee. They said they needed it. The certificate had the same number, you know. Alisher was taken to the morgue too. Sarvar had a job at the shoe-making factory but Alisher was unemployed. There are no jobs around here. He was a seller. Sarvar left three little children, Alisher a son and a daughter."

Sarvar's wife: I do not know what will happen to us now (she is a housewife). Allah knows... No photos, please. We are afraid.

The mother refuses to reveal the last name. "Just call me the Mother," she said.

Father of the family, 57, is the only adult man now. A cabby, he is out now, earning the daily bread.

The mother: We are nine now and only one of them an adult man. We will live on what he earns.

No photos are permitted because "We want to live, you know." Victims' passports are confiscated by morgue attendants.


Story 14. Rakhmatillo, born in 1974

"He left two daughters and three sons," Rakhmatillo's father, an old man with a grey beard said. "His wife is a housewife. We have eight family members now. We were nine only recently. My pension is what we mostly live on. What my son earned and my pension were all we had by way of finances. Allah knows what is to become of us now... He was a good man, quiet. He had a son not long ago... Rakhmatillo was at home when it all began. They have their own entrance, you know. There is no saying when he left to go there. He did not have any weapons or anything. It was a bona fide war here. I went over there and did not find my son at home. Neither did I find him around School 15 in front of Chulpon movie theater. Somebody said that all survivors had been taken to the clinic and sorted out there. Rakhmatillo had been sent to the regional hospital, to the ICU. He never regained conscience and died four days later. I saw him only once, they never let me in again. He had a bullet hole here (the father pointed at his brow) but no exit wound. Another bullet all but severed his leg. It was sewn to the body but sloppily... Rakhmatillo had been a plasterer, working here and there."

"How many children are orphans now," Rakhmatillo's neighbor shed a tear.

Rakhmatillo had number 378 at the morgue, or rather his death certificate had. The number was just written right on the man's leg.

Nilufar, the mother (born in 1947), says that her two daughters disappeared as well. One left five children, the other three. Their husbands are missing too. Nobody knows their whereabouts.

The missing daughters lived separately from the parents in Bogi-Shamol outskirt. Married to two brothers, they shared a single house. The women went to the bazaar on May 13 and never came back. They disappeared without a trace. The parents took their children to their own place, and a whole bunch of kids (13 in all) is playing in the patio now. The oldsters have no idea on how they will feed them all.


Story 15. Akramzhon, born in 1977

I'm looking at the death certificate No 284, filled out in the name of Akram B. on May 14, 2005.

The document is in the Russian language. Clause 9 (tick as appropriate): Death Occurred: 1. at hospital, 2. at home, 3. elsewhere. "In the street", the doctor wrote. The next clause: Cause Of Death: (written by the doctor) gunshot wound in the chest and abdomen, extensive damage to intestines. Signed: Doctor S.N. Zukhriddinova.

Akramzhon was the third son in the family. He was a shoe-maker, working at home. (One room in the house is filled with shoes of the kind all bazaars in Uzbekistan are full of - black, brown, and beige shoes most of them already put into cartoons.) Akramzhon left three girls (ages between 6 years and 6 months).

His wife Makhfura, 28, is a teacher of mathematics.

The mother is in tears. "My man is sick. He has varicosity and hepatitis..."

Yesterday, on May 20, eight men riding two white Nexia cars took Akramzhon's father away. They were masked and brandished weapons. Only women and children were left in the family, without a single adult man.

The mother: The father spent 35 years on the railroad. Our two other sons were arrested as the Akromians a year ago (23 arrests were made then). Nobody knows where they are now. These men yesterday, they also said, "Where are they?" But the father did not know, nobody did. Nobody knows where the father is either, now...

"We are short of three children now," the mother continued. "What are we going to do now? They are calling them terrorists. My sons, terrorists! That they are not. They were decent men and well educated. What kind of democracy is it? What kind of sovereignty?"

"They were a busy family," a neighbor volunteered. "They made shoes. That's all they could be blamed for."

"We were never even permitted to attend court sessions," said the wife of a defendant (she is 30). "The children have not seen their father for a year."

The mother: Our children were not permitted to say anything in court. They never said a word.

"Women and children murdered on Chulpon were buried somewhere," the neighbor said. "Everybody wants to know where they are but they are nowhere to be found."

The mother: The elder son was sick all that year. He was never offered any medical assistance.

"They always helped whoever needed it. They even helped orphanages," the neighbor said. "Some Russian died in the street nearby once. They got into their own savings to bury him."

Question: Why do you think were criminal charges pressed against them?

The family: They say we have a lot of money, that we are even sent some money.

Relatives say that one son spent a year behind the bars and the other 9 months.

The family: The men said they were innocent, they were ordinary businessmen. It was announced on May 10 that three men would be released soon but nobody was.


Story 16. Sherzod, 20 years

He lived in a hostel-type building. Four stories, long corridors running along the balcony. Apartments in buildings like that were made available to employees of major enterprises in the Soviet Union. Neighbors show me the apartment of Sherzod's family. He would have turned 21 on August 12.

"You sure we are not going to be executed for it?" Sherzod's mother is nervous. "Guarantees? We have three children..."

"I've worked at the factory all my life," the mother said. "I quit to keep an eye on the boys. I did not want them to become thieves or something. So, I became a vendor (the woman had raised four children all by herself). Sherzod went to school, he finished eight grades. That was all by way of education for him. We are a poor family."

The mother displays Sherzod's photos and breaks down in tears. "That's him with his friends."

"My other son is away, working," the woman calmed down enough to continue her story. "He and his little brother make shoes. It's a private venture, you know. And the little one helps him after his classes. Sherzod wanted to become a driver. Since it was impossible for the time being, he found some odd jobs at Takhta-Bazaar. There are no jobs to be found, you know, he was lucky to get what jobs he could... We woke up early because firing could be heard not far from here. I told them to stay indoors, but they are not kids anymore. They would not listen. Sherzod was here, listening to the music. He liked music, you know, he had very many CDs. Well, he asked me to turn the volume up. I said no, let's keep it down. There is firing nearby, I said, what if somebody got killed, what if somebody was mourning the dead, and we would have loud music here. I went out leaving him at home. It was at 3 or 4 p.m. on May 13. When I came back, I saw the key to the apartment where we always keep it. Who could know that he would go out? We were waiting for him all night, waiting for him to come back. I barely slept that night, listening to footsteps on the stairs. We were waiting all night and went out to look for Sherzod in the morning. The body was brought from the morgue the following day. We interred him at Buva Tavakkal that Sunday. Death certificate? We left it with cemetery attendants. He had a gunshot wound in the head... As for the morgue, there are no refrigerators there. All bodies were arranged in rows right on the ground - 350 bodies, all of them gutted, viscera removed to prevent them from going ripe, you know..."

"Sherzod wore a red jacket," the mother said. "When firing began, his friend and he were lying flat on the ground telling each other to keep the head down... Firing began again when dusk descended. His friend called him but Sherzod did not reply. The friend himself had a bullet in his shoulder. Afterwards, he was interrogated, tortured, and threatened at the municipal police department. They said they would lock him up for extremism and throw away the keys... My son saw the morgue and the bodies. Everything was tidy, without any horrible wounds or missing limbs. Just a tiny hole in each head..."

The mother said that her eldest daughter was living in Russia with her family and did not even know of her brother's death yet. "She saw some TV report that day and gave us a call. "Mother, are you all right there?" she said. "We are all right," I answered," the mother said. "I did not tell her about Sherzod. She is uneasy as it is. Were I to tell her anything, she'd have come immediately, and that's too expensive. What for? It won't revive Sherzod."

The mother had visited Chulpon Avenue the morning after the massacre. "I saw slippers there but no women," she said. "These kids... They have never seen rallies like that. Sure enough, they wanted to take a look and went there."

I ask her if she had heard anything about Bogi-Shamol. One of her sons promptly said in Uzbek, "No, Mom, say nothing."

"Bodies from Chulpon were taken away in KamAZ trucks. The drivers were executed afterwards," a man present in the room said.


Story 17. Rustam, 29 years

Rustam lived not far from Chulpon movie theater. A vendor at the nearby bazaar, he left three daughters (the eldest is 8) and a pregnant wife, Lola. (We saw her weeping, yesterday. Lola looked very young and defenseless.) Her husband had been admitted to the clinic at 7.40 p.m. on May 13 and died from a gunshot wound in the head at 9.30 that night.

"We went to the clinic and asked to be shown the clothes they retained there," Rustam's brother said. "We had been looking for him for almost 10 days. We found Rustam yesterday. We were shown some clothes and recognized his brown shoes and brown trousers. We saw photos (8 by 12 centimeters, something like that) tacked to the morgue wall, 40 or so of them. Photos of the still unidentified, you know. Rustam had a scar on his lip. He had already been interred with other unidentified bodies. At Bogi-Shamol, two bodies per grave with roofing plate between them... He had been in the clinic for a day and in the morgue for three days. It had its effect. His head was all swelled, and we did not even recognize him at first. We heard some noise at about 6.30 p.m. on May 13 and he went out to take a look at what was happening. He had been doing that every day. We did not know soldiers were firing at people, we thought they fired in the air... No, no names, please. Should the news of our conversation spread, the National Security Service will have us in a moment. You know what they'll do to us."

Several men, relatives and neighbors, approach. We are practically whispering but everybody is tense, and we move to another room. It resembles a store-room. There ar no windows here and the men relax a little.

A neighbor: A neighbor of mine died of two wounds. Nobody knows where the body is. It is nowhere to be found. When he was in hospital, his relatives were not permitted to see him.

"They left about 30 men on the asphalt," another man joined the conversation. "They wanted to make everything plain. All the rest were taken away... I saw two ZIL trucks and one KamAZ. Loaded with bodies, they drove away at 4.20 p.m. or so. Some bodies had already been ferried away by a coach the previous night, at 11 p.m. or so. Trucks came afterwards. Soldiers loaded the bodies. People wanted to help them but no civilians were permitted to approach the site."

"I saw tag number 424 down at the morgue. Just do not mention my name, all right?"

"There are photos there at the morgue even now. I saw one showing a man with half his head missing. Just one eye, and that is that."

"We want to live, man."

"People in Bogi-Shamol say that bodies were dumped into a pit - bodies without heads or limbs. Where Neftprom is, you know. There is a dump there. I heard a man saying that they all are there. I cannot vouch for his words, but that's what I heard."


Story 18. Komil, 28 years

Komil lived in the mahallja not far from Chulpon movie theater. Here is what his family and neighbors say.

"He was an ordinary man. Unemployed, because jobs around here cannot be had for love or money. Komil had two brothers, both away in Russia, earning money. There had been ten children in that family once. Only two brothers and fix sisters left. One brother was killed in a traffic accident right here in front of the movie theater four years ago. There used to be an ancient cemetery here. Where Chulpon Avenue is, where people were executed, there had been graves there once. That's probably why traffic accidents are so frequent here. They occur at least twice a week. Mahallja-Kabriston, the cemetery, had been large. It was demolished 40 years ago. The graves were not even moved elsewhere, you know, just paved over with asphalt. As for Komil, he was helping his wounded friend near the movie theater. (The man telling it gesticulates to show that Komil was putting a field dressing on the wound.) But soldiers roaming mahalljas fired at everyone they saw outdoors. Even at whoever was standing by his own home. That was how Komil was killed."

"It was special forces from the Ferghana Valley. Presidential troops, the Panther.)

(All of Andizhan is discussing it. Some locals claim that an airborne regiment is quartered there. Many disagree, however, and say that the units that came from the Ferghana direction merely set up a perimeter around the city while the massacre in it was organized by special forces from Tashkent airlifted by transport planes.)

"All wounded were finished off. A bullet in the brain."

"I hear that these special forces are staffed with men from orphanages, brainwashed and conditioned, turned into real brutes. They were given two cases of vodka - 40 bottles - with some substance added to it, to make sure they would not hesitate to shoot. I cannot even shoot a bird, but they fired at people. A man is screaming for help only to have a soldier approach him and shoot him in the head."

"Special forces left immediately, replaced with ordinary troops. Conscripts (they are smiling from their armored personnel carriers now). They were beasts..."

"Special forces were from Ferghana. These guys from orphanages, they feel no qualms. No pangs of conscience, no nothing. Brutes, they are."

"Here in Andizhan license plates begin with the figure 17, and the ones in Ferghana with 15. I saw military vehicles, cars and Ural trucks, with license plates beginning with a 15."

"When down at the morgue, I saw how photos of unidentified bodies were marked. It went 1, 2, 4, and then 220, 370, and so on. Only unidentified bodies there now, all others already collected by their families."

"We want a better life than that. What can we do? I have lost a brother. Should I go out tomorrow and say "Let's elect ourselves a new government," special forces will execute me right there and then. When revolution in Kyrgyzstan was beginning, the president there told the army to hold its fire. And our president said, "Sure, kill them all."

"Our president is an animal. He deserves to be tried. Should they discover we talked to you, the National Security Service will take us in and murder too."

"Everybody is afraid of everybody else. Even men from the National Security Service are. If one fails to detain me (say, he is my family or friend), he himself will be arrested."

"We are all impoverished here. I have a hole in the roof of my house, and we cannot afford roofing slate. It costs 5,000 sums ($5). We only buy flour and eat but sparingly. It's great in Russia and horrible here! And Karimov repeats again and again that life here is just fine and dandy."

A man says that someone else he knows took a look at the morgue log and saw numbers over 700 there. We asked the man to call his acquaintance, promising not to reveal his name no matter what. The man hesitates, all others looking at him expectantly (they apparently know who the matter concerns). The man finally makes up his mind and shakes his head saying that this acquaintance will never agree to talk to journalists.


Story 19. Ibragim Mansurov, 60 (he turned 60 on April 10)

"He drove an ambulance and died at his post," Mansurov's nephew Ilkhom Mamadiyev said. "On May 13, you know. We found the body at the morgue afterwards. It happened not far from the Andizhan State University. The van came under fire, and everyone inside - he, the doctor, and the para - were killed. I hear that the patient died too. He was not someone wounded, just your ordinary sick, but they never managed to take him to the hospital. They all were literally riddled with bullets on all sides. We saw bullet holes in the legs, head, thighs, shoulders..."

"He had six children, the youngest is not even married yet," Mamadiyev continued. "We do not know when he died. We were just told that at 5 p.m. the van was already a wreck." (It apparently happened before the massacre on Chulpon Street, when the rebels were in the building of the khokimijat or administration yet.)

Mansurov's ambulance stalled about 30 meters from the checkpoint, his relatives say. The street runs parallel to Chulpon Avenue. A checkpoint was set up at the crossroads. The van came under fire 30 meters from it.

Mamadiyev: Bullet entered under the right eye and half his head literally disappeared. The death certificate bore no registration number... His mother does not know yet. She thinks he is away, doing his job. She is old, born in 1918...

"We wanted to bury him in accordance with our traditions," the nephew said, "but it was no easy task. The body has to be wrapped in cloth, but we could not stop blood from oozing out - so many holes, you know. The body was put on three mattresses but even the lowest one was soaked through. We were forced to wrap him in cellophane first."


Story 20. Sabit, 30 years

Sabit was killed on May 13. His father, an old man, agreed to meet with journalists at first but clearly had a change of heart and quietly turned us out of the house.

"We found him not far from the square. Someone called us, we went there, collected the body, and buried him. That's all," the father said. "He was a good son. A shoe-maker, a real professional. There is nothing we can do about it now."


Story 21. Alisher, 36 years

"We had various dads and one mom," Alisher's stepbrother Abdullo speaks Russian with difficulty. "I was sick at home. I spend two days at the municipal police department recently. Writing account of what I did, didn't do, etc. They record my fingertips."

"Alisher made furniture. He worked home. He had a wife and three children (the eldest 12, the youngest 4). We help them now," Abdullo continued. "Dunno where he die or how. A friend tell us your brother down at the morgue. Bullets in shoulder and liver. Death certificate number 303. I write it all for the mahallja rais (chairman) and for the police too."

"Alisher died, brother Khamid hospitalized. With bullets in arm and leg. We hear his leg was sawn off. We did not see him, family not permitted. He not on patient list yesterday, probably taken somewhere. We bring him socks and food. The police say we do not know, tell you when we know. My wife missing since May 13. Dunno where she is. I visit all morgues and hospitals. Not there... When it begin on May 13, I say my wife go and find our son. I was sick. She went out, the son come back. She not."

There is a young man sitting by Abdullo's side. He is a relative, Mamadali. He is 17. They live literally next door (doorway to the nearby courtyard right here, in the patio), as close relatives usually do. Mamadali has not seen his mother since May 13.

"My father was in a hospital," Mamadali said. "His name also disappeared from the list of patients. He disappeared yesterday. Nobody says anything to the family. And my mother is missing too. Her name is Madina, she is 40. She went out looking for me on May 13 and did not come back. I did."

Alisher's mother had 9 children from two marriages. Troubles plagued Abdullo's three stepbrothers. One was killed, another was admitted to a hospital and disappeared without a trace. The third... this is what happened. He was arrested (Abdullo does not know on what charges or refuses to discuss it) in the wake of explosions in Tashkent in 1999. The young man was sentenced to 18 years imprisonment and died in jail 5 months late. Cause Of Death in official documents stated that he died of a heart attack. "I collect the body from the Karakalpakstan morgue in Nukus," Abdullo said. "They call us and say come to collect."

"Did you perhaps see anything on the body that indicated torture?" we asked.

Abdullo nods.

The woman lost three sons.


Story 22. Khokim, 23 years

Khokim was a cook. We are talking to his mother and grandmother. A married man, Khokim had a son and a daughter. The street where they lived is right near Chulpon movie theater.

"He went to the bazaar to buy some food that day," Khokim's mother said. "Khokim was the eldest man about the house. That day, May 13, somebody called (the family does not have a telephone, the call was to the neighbors) and told us that he was safe, with them, that they intended to wait it out, and would come home afterwards. Well, they ventured outdoors and he was killed. Near Yubileiny movie theater (the old name of Chulpon). Khokim went out to buy some food, but he saw a crowd. He followed it out of curiosity."

"We were waiting for him all that night," Khokim's uncle Anvar joined the conversation. "I went out when it was still dark and found his body. A bullet in the right kidney. He had never been in the army, never known how to handle arms. He was the only boy in the family, and he was not conscripted because of that. When their father had died, it was only the mother with five children, four of them girls, left. Khokim was the only boy. The sister closest to him in age is 18. We married Khokim when he turned 18. Two children are orphans now. The mother is a disabled person (Category 2) and the grandmother are paid pensions. All of the family will have to exist on that now."

"When I brought the body, doctor of the local hospital and two men from the prosecutor's office appeared," Anvar continued. "They examined the body. The wound was not fatal but he spent the whole night over there, lost too much blood and died. We did not even take the body to the morgue. Had we but known, we'd have stopped him. He was an obedient boy, not some hothead. He went out and we all thought he was with his friends. When he did not return, I went out too and found the body..."

Anvar: The men who reside nearby, they collected several automatic rifles afterwards. Soldiers must have dropped them or something. The locals covered the faces of the murdered with cloth. How many bodies were there? Who knows? I found Khokim and brought him home. Somebody gave me a lift to the outskirts. The boy was alive, he died of extensive loss of blood.

Two swallows had made a nest above the entrance. They fussed about while we were talking. Khokim's wife is young, she is only 23.


Story 23. Odilzhon Akhmadov. He would have turned 43 this month

Akhmadov lived in Dzhalabek district.

"Odilzhon was a doctor on an ambulance crew," his brother Aripzhan said. "Three men were killed there. The brother was with the Bogi-Shamol ambulance service. We were four brothers in the family once."

"He went out on May 13, and his shift was to be over the following day. Twenty-four hours, you know. When he did not return, we went to the central ambulance office. Some official told us that the van had come under attack, and they had all perished. He said we could collect the bodies right from the site. There four men in the ambulance, and only one survived. We were not permitted to enter the area because firing still continued. They themselves brought the bodies to the regional hospital afterwards. We collected Odilzhon's body when the forensic team was through with it. We left the death certificate and his passport to officials of the civilian registry office. Death certificate was numbered 22. We were not told when he had died but his body was retrieved at 2 p.m. the following day. The street where he was killed was called Namangan Street once, it is University Street now. Odilzhon left a wife with three children. The girl is a student in Tashkent, the boys are going to school."

"No, I never bothered to count how many bullets had hit the ambulance," Aripzhan said. "Firing at ambulance is a crime. Who has ever heard of it? Not even aksakals (elders) have heard of an outrage such as this. I was shocked. Ambulances are not to be fired at..."


Story 24. Saidkhon, born in 1972

Saidkhon the carpenter left a wife (housewife) and three children. This is a mahallja of craftsmen, situated several hundreds meters from Chulpon movie theater.

Saidkhon died on May 13. He spent all that day at home, making furniture, and ventured out in the evening. Either he needed a pack of smokes or wanted to talk to some friends. He was returning home when firing began. His body was found at 4.30 a.m. The neighbors said they had seen the body nearby. Men went out to collect the body. Saidkhon had only 20 meters to walk to safety of his home when he was killed. A bullet penetrated his liver.

"I don't know if I can live with that," his mother said.

***

Fear hangs over Andizhan like a shroud. Arrests, harassment, and campaign of intimidation plunged the city into the atmosphere of sheer terror, something that cannot be imparted and has to be experienced. In a single phrase, the state of affairs could only be described as "Welcome to 1937".

***

Everybody calls what happened in Andizhan a war as in "It was before the war" or "Prices went up when the war was over."

***

I approach three men in traditional mourning accoutrements (chapans or robes, kushaks or sashes, and tyubeteikas or skull-caps) standing near Chulpon movie theater. Bare minutes into the conversation I suddenly notice that lips of one of them begin trembling. "A person talked to journalists next street not long ago," I'm told. "He was shot the following day."

***

We are taking snapshots of bullet holes. Young men around us are friendly at first but their amicability eventually gives way to unmistakable fear. It is in their eyes. "Are you finished? Man, we do not want any problems." - "But what does that have to do with you? What kind of problems do you fear?" - "That's Uzbekistan. And that there is the detention cell."

***

Lost in the labyrinth of narrow streets, we approach a young man for directions. He looks around and shows us the way with his eyes only, never lifting a finger. He is afraid that someone may see him talking to journalists.

***

"Nobody will discover the truth. The authorities are keeping it under the lid," our cabman told us. "The truth is that soldiers fired at the people. And finished off the wounded with a shot in the head. At least 1,000 people were murdered, ferried out on flatbeds, and buried somewhere. The truth will be told eventually, but not now."

***

"Protesters on the square, they were peaceful folks," Rustam, 20, said. "It was hot there, and the Akromians were handing out food and water. They had brought it all from the bazaar and were just passing it around. They were even helping the wounded, 2 or 3 of them, who had been seized by the police and the military. There was a doctor there in the crowd, a woman. She came forth and treated the wounded (field dressings, that sort of thing)."

***

Traces of bullets can be seen all along Boburzshakh Avenue. Soldiers driving by were bored and fired bursts aiming at houses that line the road. Windows were shattered, stalls demolished, buildings damaged. Several pedestrians on the sidewalks were wounded and two men in a Damas van at the curb sustained gunshot wounds (one of them was said to die afterwards). All of that happened several days ago. The locals tell us say it was like and show us a girl. Daughter of one of the victims (the man was hospitalized), she is selling some foodstuffs not far from her home. "Could you please tell us how all of that happened?" we ask the girl. She is shaking her head emphatically. "No way. I want my daddy to live."

***

We are taking snapshots of a store with bullet holes clearly visible. A biker approaches. "This Karimov ought to be brought before trial," he whispers.

***

Some residents of Andizhan lie through their teeth just to be rid of journalists. We see benches, blankets, and mourners. We approach. "No, my mother just died." Another funeral wake. "Brother died. Not here, in Russia. The casket will be delivered tomorrow." - "How did he die?" - "How do you say it in Russian? Pichok..." - "Stabbed?" - "Yeah." - "Who did it?" - "Mafia."

***

Cabbies in Andizhan are single-use at best. An average cabby earns 2,000 to 3,000 sums a day ($2-3). We pay ours several times more on the condition that he will drive us around all day and help us find mourning families. The man lasted several hours before his fear took hold. "You will have to excuse me," he said. "No more trips with you. I'm afraid." He was not the only cabby who walked out on us that day.

***

We were told again and again that bodies of the murdered had been interred in the settlement of Bogi-Shamol not far from Andizhan. I disregarded it as a rumor at first. After all, we had already been told of mass graves in Buzton and we had visited the cemetery with nothing to show for it. We had also been told of mass graves in Teshik-Tash. Bogi-Shamol was therefore the third site. Three residents of Andizhan spoke of it to us that day, claiming that bodies of women, children, and maimed corpses had been interred there.

Luck was with us because we met finally a man who confirmed that mass graves in Bogi-Shamol had been at least prepared. The man was a street cleaner. He would not tell us his name. The man said that several days after the massacre (he did not remember the date but remembered that he heard the first rumors on the war in Pakhtaabad that same day) 50 or so street cleaners were mobilized to dig graves. They were driven to Bogi-Shamol and told to dig graves in the hills beyond the local cemetery. In fact, a lot of graves had already been ready, and the street cleaners merely deepened some of then and made several more. The graves they deepened and made were two meters by one, 1.1 meter deep. According to the man, he had counted about 20 graves. He did not know how many bodies had been interred in every grave or if there had been any bodies. All street cleaners were sent back to Andizhan soon, all of them in shock. The man's son Saidullo who approached us said that his father had been dead drunk for two days after that.

Street cleaner: If you do not care about the law, you could put 5 to 10 bodies in a grave. I dug several graves, well made the ones already there somewhat deeper, you know. Almost everything had already been done before us.

Saidullo. Yeah, my dad was cleaning the street and planting flowers when they herded him and others and told them to dig graves... I hear it was soldiers who killed everyone. Because Karimov ordered them to.

Street cleaner: What are these Akromians? First time I hear of them.

Saidullo: There was this man Akrom Yuldashev once, but nobody knows who these Akromians are or what they want. Everyone is poor. You go to the bazaar over there and ask anyone about his salary and then take a look at the prices. My salary is 40,000 sums. A pair of shoes costs 15,000. Communal services cost 5,300 sums. Electricity tariffs have been going up since before the war, since January. They doubled in the last six month. Ditto gas tariffs... How are we supposed to make ends meet? How can I support my wife and children?

Street cleaner: If somebody knew we've been talking here with you, the National Security Service will have us this very night.

Saidullo: It is from TV screens only that one can hear how Karimov is praised... The way I heard it, when the crowd was leaving the square and marching down Chulpon Avenue, the Akromians walked on the sidewalks and hostages were in front of the crowd - regional prosecutor, tax inspector. Soldiers opened fire and gunned them down.

Street cleaner: It's worse than in Afghanistan. It had been a war there, but here it was just a rally.

***

We are on the way to Bogi-Shamol. A checkpoint barred our way not far from the destination. We were scared. I thought we would be immediately expelled from the Ferghana Valley, our cameras and films confiscated. Fortunately, soldiers manning the checkpoint waved us through. "They established it four days ago," our driver explained. The cemetery is located in the hills behind Bogi-Shamol. The road leading there is blocked with huge slabs of concrete. Placed there four days ago too, as we were bound to discover afterwards.

The cemetery is small. This is where the locals bury their dead. We notice nine fresh graves. It is clear that at least nine were interred here not long ago. We also notice upturned soil beyond the cemetery and hills in the distance.

Coming closer, we understand that this is what we have been looking for. Graves are wide, for at least two bodies each. Marble columns with numbers sticking from the earth. Several graves are empty. From some of them bodies were retrieved by families, but three or four were never used. We counted 45 graves with bodies in them and saw a great deal of discarded white rubber gloves - the kind morgue attendants don to handle bodies.

It means that at least 54 people killed about two weeks ago were interred in Bogi-Shamol.

***

On May 14 morning when I was making my cautious way to the khokimijat to try and find out how the siege had ended, a man with a bike stopped me. Clearly enraged, he told me the troops had gunned down hundreds and taken all bodies away in three trucks. "Let's go, I'll show you," he was not asking. He was demanding. "There are some bodies there even now."

What we saw on Chulpon Avenue was horrible indeed - pools of blood, brain tissue, women's slippers, umbrellas. That was all. No bodies. I encountered bodies - scattered here and there (I counted 30 off them) - elsewhere, far from the site of the massacre.

The man with the bike was Lutfulla Shamsutdinov, a local human rights activist. Another representative of the human rights community, Saidzhakhon Zainabuddinov, a man of 45-50, came over too. "Just look at it," he was clearly unable to credit what he was seeing. There were people all around us, weeping in rage and sorrow...

I saw Shamsutdinov and Zainabuddinov for the second and last time approximately a week later. Calling them on the phone was out of the question (their phones had been turned off), and we drove over to Zainabuddinov's place. He went away with my colleague to see a man the journalist had come to see while Shamsutdinov and I remained there waiting for his return. We had to leave soon, though. His old mother appeared in the doorway and she was not gentle. "Saidzhakhon is my only son. Leave him alone," she said.

Shamsutdinov was frequently looking at his timepiece and looking around. "Where are they?" I caught him whispering once. As it turned out, he had been warned by an acquaintance from security structures that he was marked for assassination as a witness. "They will say afterwards that escaped prisoners did it," the man had told Shamsutdinov. So, the human rights activist was waiting for the American consul or attache to turn up and take him to a safe place. The American was nowhere to be seen.

A Jeep turned the corner. Shamsutdinov ran over to it and, after a brief conversation with someone inside, came back to me. "Fare you well," he said. The Jeep roared away.

When Zainabuddinov returned, I told him what happened. He merely nodded. He looked exhausted and gloomy, clearly awaiting arrest. They came for him several days later.

***

We found another eyewitness of the Chulpon Avenue massacre. The man's Russian was something else, and this correspondent will tell the story in his own words.

Divided into two large groups, the crowd was leaving the square when firing began. The first mob numbered about 2,000 people, the second - several hundreds of meters behind the first - about 700. The first mob also included the men who had seized and abandoned the khokimijat. They were leading prisoners in front of them - the prosecutor and other officials, 15 men or so. Two or three armored personnel carriers with soldiers all around were waiting for the people. They opened fire and mowed down the first mob literally in minutes. Everyone was dead. No survivors. "I was walking behind when I noticed all of a sudden that there was nobody in front of me anymore, that I was in the front rank already," the man said. The second mob scattered into the narrow streets of mahalljas.

***

I think I know why the crowd gunned down on Chulpon Avenue included so many residents of the bloc located near the old city. They were going home when they found themselves ambushed.

***

The square in front of the khokimijat is still cordoned off. Three buildings ransacked by fire can be seen from a distance - Akhunbayev Theater, Bakirov movie theater, and the khokimijat itself. Nobody knows who set the latter on fire. It happened when the rebels had already vacated the building. Navoi Avenue, the central thoroughfare, is closed between the building of the National Security Service and the central square. Some buildings - the jail, Andizhan Municipal Directorate of Internal Affairs, National Security Service, are guarded by armored personnel carriers. Arrests in Andizhan continue. Forty men were moved from Andizhan to the Ferghana jail in a single day a few days ago. They were escorted elsewhere from Ferghana. The wounded disappear without a trace from the regional hospitals. Their families are only told that this or that person is not listed as a patient anymore.

In the meantime, TV reports go on extolling life in Uzbekistan. Whoever is approached by camera crews is literally seething with anger at extremists. Most news websites are not available. There are no more journalists in Andizhan and Russian TV channels - the main source of news in Uzbekistan - say practically nothing about what happened in the city.

Several buildings on Chulpon Avenue were promptly and sloppily repaired and painted green and yellow. The cafe, all but demolished by bullets, was pulled down for good. Practically all traces of the extensive firing have been obliterated. It will be possible soon to let foreign tourists and journalists visit Andizhan.

***

The truth is not to be kept under the lid. An acquaintance of ours said that some women had circulated some sheets of papers one morning. I asked the man to bring me the leaflets if he still had any. He left but eventually returned with a heap of BBC reports on the events in Andizhan, in the Uzbek language, clearly printouts of some Internet website.

This is how the truth is making its way to residents of Andizhan

* * *