Yesterday, a colleague warned me that he was about to tell me something terrible about his friends. “Exactly about Crocus,” I thought. She started with the fact that the family of her close friends decided to go to the Picnic concert two months ago. The husband gave his wife money for good places. But she forgot to buy tickets, and closer to the time she remembered and hastily tried to book. There were two good places, but for some reason the site only offered one ticket for redemption. She kept trying. Listening to my colleague, I asked myself: did this family survive? Where did the shots hit them?
It turned out that the family did not go to the concert at all. The woman made more than one attempt to buy tickets and gave up when for some reason the payment from her card did not go through. And the husband said that he would not be able to go, he would be very busy that day. However, after the terrorist attack, this family is still experiencing severe shock. In the evenings they sat down and talked about what it would be like if they went. Which of them would have managed to escape (probably her: he would have closed her). And what would happen to the children and parents if no one. Finally, that woman called my colleague and with quiet horror in her voice asked: “Don’t you understand what would have happened if I had bought these tickets? My husband wouldn't go. Who do you think I would go with? “With me...” she answered.
Yesterday she was sitting at the table in front of me in a Moscow cafe, at the entrance to which the security guard unexpectedly asked us to show the contents of our bags. She looked at me with such an expression of horror that I realized: she was also at Crocus, so clearly she put herself in the place of the guests of the Picnic.
Today is the ninth day, and the number of victims is only growing. People began to feel bruises, cuts and dislocations that they received when they ran away, stumbled, fell, and hit their heads. All week they were in such shock that they did not feel any injuries. But what they experience most is depression.
One man from Gorlovka, Alexey, carried a disabled girl out of the hall. And he asked me to find a man - already on the street a stranger approached him and asked permission to call someone in the hall from his phone. The number did not answer. And all these days he is unavailable. But a man from Gorlovka persistently calls it. I suddenly understood why. All these days he put himself in the place of that stranger who failed to get out of the fire, and played out an alternative scenario of that situation, but with an unhappy ending. I clearly experienced this unhappy ending. Why not? After all, death was too close.
And one woman, Ksenia, who was hiding with her daughter behind a billboard in the hall, said that, having been under bullets, she was able to better understand her brother and husband fighting in the Northern Military District. I put myself in their place.
The whole country spent the week putting themselves in each other's shoes. And those who survived the terrorist attack. And those who were not even going to that concert. And those who generally live in another city. My colleague said that she began to better understand the residents of Belgorod, who are under constant fire.
The ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes is an important social skill. There are people who are insensitive to the pain of others and cry only when they themselves are hurt. It's scary to live in a society where there are more of them. It’s calmer with those who know how to empathize and put themselves in your place when you feel bad.
Russians have often been given the idea that they are duped and divided by political views.
But when Crocus happened, no one asked what views the victims had—for Putin or not. For SVO or against. People simply put themselves in their place and empathized as if they were relatives.
And that man from Gorlovka kept the number from Crocus - “-1st floor” - as a reminder of where he could end up. As a reminder of where we could all go if our response was to hole up in our homes and say, “The important thing is that it’s not with me.”
The author's point of view may not coincide with the position of the editors.