THIRD WORLD WAR  第三次世界大战  ТРЕТЬЯ МИРОВАЯ ВОЙНА 

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9:00 AM War Does Not Choose - It Takes Everyone

Nanking. Leopold's Congo. Pol Pot's Cambodia. Tasmania. Paraguay. Mongols. Wars that textbooks ignore - and the mechanics of how ordinary people do extraordinary things. About war as a universal human phenomenon, not just a Western pathology.<p class="ql-align-justify">In 1975, Pol Pot and the "Khmer Rouge" captured Phnom Penh. On the same day, they began to drive the entire population of the city - about two million people - to the fields. Doctors, teachers, and engineers walked away, leaving everything behind. The sick were pulled out of hospitals right from their IV drips. Newborns were carried in hands. The elderly were transported on carts - or left in the streets.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The "Khmer Rouge" proclaimed that the "zero year" had begun - the history of Cambodia would be rewritten from a clean slate. Cities were declared sources of bourgeois decay. Money was abolished. Schools were closed. Glasses became a death sentence - a bespectacled person was, according to Pol Pot's logic, an intellectual, and an intellectual was a class enemy. People were killed for knowing a foreign language, for having soft hands, for being educated, for being doctors or teachers.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">In four years - from 1975 to 1979 - one and a half to two million people died. In a country with a population of around eight million. Every fourth or fifth Cambodian.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This was not a war in the usual sense - there was no external enemy, no front line. It was a state declaring war on its own people. The ideology - an absurdly taken Maoism, mixed with Rousseauist romanticism about a "pure" peasant society - became a machine of destruction. Ieng Sary, the foreign minister of the Khmer Rouge, later convicted of genocide, expressed it coldly: a new society had to be created, and for that, the old one had to be destroyed.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Cambodia is one of the clearest examples of how war as a phenomenon goes far beyond conflict between states. It is the destruction of people by categories - and these categories are defined by those who have the power to define them.</p><h2 class="ql-align-justify">Genocides that are not talked about</h2> <p class="ql-align-justify">The Holocaust occupies a central place in global memory of genocide — and rightly so. But its centrality produces a side effect: other genocides, no less real and no less monstrous, remain on the periphery of collective memory — or altogether outside of it.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is not only a historical omission. It is a continuation of injustice: whose victims are deemed important enough to remember — is a political question, not a matter of the scale of suffering.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The genocide of the Herero and Nama in German South West Africa — territory now known as Namibia — occurred from 1904 to 1908. German colonial troops under the command of General Lothar von Trotha issued an order, which has entered history as the Vernichtungsbefehl — "order of destruction," in response to the uprising of the Herero people. The text of the order is one of the most candid documents of genocidal ideology: every Herero found in German territory, armed or not, with livestock or without — will be shot. Women and children — are not to be shot but driven back into the desert. The desert will do its work.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">About eighty percent of the Herero people — about sixty to eighty thousand individuals — perished. About half of the Nama people — about ten thousand individuals. Survivors were driven into concentration camps — this is the first documented use of concentration camps by Germany, thirty years before the Third Reich.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Germany officially recognized the genocide of the Herero and Nama only in 2021 — one hundred and seventeen years after it was perpetrated.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The genocide of the Tasmanians is one of the few cases in history where a people were completely annihilated. The indigenous population of Tasmania — an island south of Australia — was estimated to number between three and fifteen thousand people at the time of the arrival of European settlers in the late eighteenth century. By 1876, when Truganini — the last known bearer of Tasmanian traditions — died, there were no indigenous people left on the island.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This occurred through systematic extermination, displacement from lands, disease, and policies that modern researchers qualify as genocide. The British colonial administration organized the "Black Line" — a dragnet in which hundreds of armed settlers scoured the island, trying to drive the indigenous people onto a peninsula where they planned to "relocate" them. The operation failed — only two people were caught — but the pressure continued. The survivors were transported to Flinders Island, where they died from diseases and despair.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Ainu people — the indigenous population of the Japanese islands, Sakhalin, and the Kurils — were not physically exterminated but suffered from systematic cultural destruction. Japanese assimilation policies from the late nineteenth century forbade the Ainu language, traditional practices, and traditional tattoos. The Ainu were relocated, their lands were taken away, and hunting and fishing — which were the basis of their existence — were prohibited. By the mid-twentieth century, the Ainu language and culture were on the brink of extinction — not through mass killings, but through systematic destruction of the conditions for the existence of the culture.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Japan officially recognized the Ainu as an indigenous people only in 2019.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The war of the Apache people against the American army and Texas Rangers lasted from 1849 to 1886 — about forty years. This is one of the longest and most fierce wars in the history of the American West. The Apaches, under the leadership of Cochise, Victorio, and Geronimo, resisted significantly superior forces using their knowledge of the terrain and guerrilla tactics.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Geronimo, the last of the great Apache leaders, surrendered in 1886. Not because he was defeated in open battle. But because the American army deported his family and the families of his warriors — people who had not fought. This was not military tactics in the classical sense — it was the use of the civilian population as hostages.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">After surrendering, Geronimo was sent to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, where he spent the rest of his life under military supervision. He never returned to Arizona. He died in 1909, officially a prisoner of war.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Paraguayan War of 1864-1870 — the conflict of Paraguay against the Triple Alliance of Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay — is regarded by some estimates as the most destructive war in the history of South America in proportional terms. Paraguay lost, by various estimates, between fifty to seventy percent of its population — including about ninety percent of the male population of the country. After the war, there were significantly more women than men in Paraguay — a demographic imbalance felt for generations.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is an example of a war that literally destroyed a country — not through occupation, but through the depletion of its population. Marshal Solano Lopez, the president of Paraguay who started the war, continued it even when the outcome was clear to everyone — and died in battle in 1870, when his army was composed mainly of teenagers and the elderly with homemade weapons.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">These stories are not exotic exceptions to the normal course of history. They are the norm — just the norm, not included in the standard narrative of war and genocide, because the victims do not fit into the categories that Western discourse considers significant enough for remembrance.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This, in itself, is a form of violence — the violence of forgetting.</p><h2 class="ql-align-justify">Nanjing, Congo, Bengal — war without a front</h2><p class="ql-align-justify">On December 13, 1937, the Japanese army entered Nanjing — the capital of the Republic of China. What followed over the next six weeks entered history as the "Nanjing Massacre" — although the word "massacre" does not convey the scale or the methodical nature of what occurred.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Japanese soldiers killed civilians — men, women, children, the elderly. They killed in an organized manner: groups were taken to the banks of the Yangtze River, shot or stabbed with bayonets, and the bodies were thrown into the water. They killed individually — on the streets, in homes, in basements. Officers held contests for the speed of killing with swords, the results of which were published in Japanese newspapers as sporting achievements. One officer, Lieutenant Mukai Toshiaki, reported one hundred and six kills, another, Nomo Yukio, one hundred and five — and the newspaper "Tokyo Nikkei Nichi" published this as an amusing story about the rivalry between two friends.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The number of victims remains a subject of debate between Japanese and Chinese historians — from one hundred thousand to three hundred thousand people. The disputes over the numbers are political: Japanese nationalists downplay, Chinese sources exaggerate. But even the most conservative estimates describe one of the largest mass killings of civilians in history.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">What makes Nanjing especially important for understanding war as a phenomenon is the documentation. Japanese officers photographed what was happening. They kept diaries. They wrote letters home. Some of these documents were presented at the Tokyo tribunal from 1946 to 1948. They show: this was not uncontrolled violence of crazed soldiers. It was an organized action that the command was aware of and did not stop — and in some cases even encouraged.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Iris Chang — an American journalist of Chinese descent — wrote "The Rape of Nanking" in 1997. The book became a bestseller and brought the topic back into public consciousness — primarily in the U.S., where knowledge of the events of 1937 in China was significantly less than that of the European events of the same period. In 2004, at the age of thirty-six, Chang committed suicide. In her suicide note, she wrote that researching Nanjing had shattered her mentally — that she had seen too much to continue to function normally.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This serves as a documentation of another kind: a testament to what honest immersion in the material of mass destruction does to a person. War kills not only those who participate in it. It kills those who honestly try to remember it.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Congo under the rule of Belgian King Leopold II is another example of a war without a front — a war of the corporate state against its own people.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">From 1885 to 1908, the Congo was the personal property of Leopold — not a Belgian colony, but the private possession of the monarch. Leopold never visited the Congo. He ruled it like a plantation, the main product of which was rubber. The system was simple and monstrous: villages were given quotas for rubber collection. If the quota was not met — hostages were taken, tortured, and killed. Hands were chopped off as evidence of bullet expenditure — soldiers were required to present severed hands for every used bullet to confirm that the bullet had not been wasted on hunting.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Collections of severed hands became a symbol of the system. Photographs of Rwandan Nsala holding the hand and foot of his five-year-old daughter — all that remained of her after the punitive expedition — became one of the first documents of mass crime that circulated around the world. This occurred in 1904 — at a time when photography was just beginning to be used as a tool for human rights documentation.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Adam Hochschild in "King Leopold's Ghost," published in 1998 — one of the most important books about colonial crimes — estimated the number of dead and those who died from disease and starvation due to Leopold's system at ten million people. This is half of the estimated population of the Congo at that time. The figure is a matter of dispute, but the scale of destruction — the annihilation of a significant portion of the country's population — is not disputed.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">International pressure, organized by activists — primarily Edmund Morel and Roger Casement — eventually forced the Belgian parliament to annex the Congo in 1908 and wrest it from Leopold's control. This is one of the first victories of the international human rights campaign over state terror — and it was achieved through documentation, the publication of testimonies, and political pressure, rather than through military force.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The Bengal famine of 1943 killed between two and three million people in India — at that time a British colony. It was not a natural disaster in the usual sense: the harvest of 1943 was not catastrophically poor. The famine was produced by wartime political decisions: grain was requisitioned for the needs of the British army, food imports to India were limited for transportation reasons, and local authorities were slow to organize aid.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Winston Churchill — who is remembered in the UK primarily as the savior of the country in World War II — when Indian officials telegraphed him about the famine and requested permission to import grain, replied with a question: if the famine was so terrible, why had Gandhi not died yet? This is a documented fact — not propaganda or interpretation.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Amartya Sen — an Indian economist and Nobel laureate — in his 1981 book "Poverty and Famines" demonstrated: famine is rarely the result of an absolute lack of food. It is a result of the distribution of rights to food — who has the right to receive it, and who does not. The Bengal famine of 1943 occurred when food was available in the region, but the rights to access it were organized in such a way that poor farmers were deprived of it. This turned an economic problem into a political one — and made famine a result of decisions rather than nature.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Indonesia in 1965-1966 is an example of another type of war without a front. After a failed coup in October 1965, the army led by General Suharto began the systematic extermination of communists and alleged sympathizers. Over the course of several months, between five hundred thousand and one million people were killed — the exact figures remain unknown to this day. Another one and a half million were imprisoned.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The West was silent. Moreover, the CIA provided the Indonesian army with lists of suspected communists. American diplomats in private letters described what was happening as a necessary measure against the communist threat. This is a documented fact — declassified archival documents were published in 2017.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is important: a war without a front is often a war with the silent consent or active complicity of those who declare their commitment to human rights. Geopolitical interests systematically outweigh declared values — and it is this silent complicity that makes many genocides and mass killings possible.</p><h2 class="ql-align-justify">The Mechanics of Destruction — How Ordinary People Do Unusual Things</h2><p class="ql-align-justify">All of the above examples raise the same question — the most uncomfortable of all that war poses to human self-understanding.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">How is this possible? How do ordinary people — not monsters, not clinical psychopaths, not hell's spawn in the biblical sense — do what was done in Nanking, in Congo, in Cambodia, in Indonesia?</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is a question that has been the subject of decades of research in social psychology, in history, in political philosophy — and the answer is both simple and unbearable.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Ordinary people do unusual things under certain conditions. Not because they are exclusively bad people. But because the conditions are extraordinarily powerful.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">Christopher Browning in "Ordinary Men" from 1992 studied the German 101st Reserve Police Battalion — a group of middle-aged German police officers who in 1942-1943 in Poland shot approximately thirty-eight thousand Jews and deported another forty-five thousand to concentration camps. They were not members of the SS, nor were they ideologically motivated Nazis. They were ordinary Hamburg police officers — family men, tradesmen, workers.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Browning showed: at the beginning of the first extermination action, their commander offered those who did not feel capable of participating in the shootings to step out of line. A few individuals stepped out. They were not punished. They spent the rest of the war in other positions. But most remained — and participated in the killings.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Why? Browning named several factors. Group pressure: not wanting to be the one who leaves comrades to do the heavy work alone. Gradual escalation: the first time was unbearable, then it became easier. Dehumanization of the victims through language and procedures. Authority of the chain of command. And — possibly most importantly — the lack of an alternative narrative: in that system, at that place, at that time, it seemed like what was to be done.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Daniel Goldhagen in "Hitler's Willing Executioners" from 1996 challenged Browning: he argued that German anti-Semitism was specific and deep enough to explain the willingness to kill without appealing to universal psychological mechanisms. This is a fair argument — and the discussion between them is one of the most important in Holocaust historical science.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">But both Cambodia and Congo, and Indonesia — not related to German anti-Semitism — produce a similar picture: ordinary people committing mass murders when the system creates the appropriate conditions. This indicates that the mechanism is more universal than specific ideology.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Jean Hatzfeld in "The Season of the Machete" in 2003 conducted a series of interviews with those convicted of murders during the Rwandan genocide of 1994 — ordinary Hutu peasants who killed their Tutsi neighbors. Their answers to the question "why?" are among the most honest documents about the mechanics of genocide that exist.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">They killed because everyone around was killing. Because not killing meant being suspected of sympathy for the enemy. Because it happened quickly and systematically — and the seeming normality of the process produced participation. Because the radio constantly referred to Tutsi as "cockroaches" — and this language worked. Because the fear of what Tutsi would do to Hutu if they didn’t strike first was real — even if the grounds for that fear were partially fabricated.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">None of them described themselves as monsters. Most described themselves as people who did what everyone else was doing, in a situation that demanded it.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is an unbearable response — because it deprives us of the comfortable division into "us" — normal people — and "them" — monsters. It says: under the right conditions, "we" and "they" are not as different as we would like to think.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is not an excuse. This is a diagnosis. And a diagnosis is more important than an excuse or condemnation — because only a diagnosis allows us to think about prevention.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">Gregory Stanton — an American diplomat and genocide researcher — developed the "ten stages of genocide" model: classification, symbolization, discrimination, dehumanization, organization, polarization, preparation, persecution, extermination, denial. This is not an inevitable sequence — it is a set of warning signs that can be recognized and responded to before the process reaches the stage of extermination.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is why documentation is not only a historical duty — it is a tool for prevention. Every documented genocide is an argument against the next one — if it is remembered accurately enough and widely enough.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The problem is that it is not remembered accurately enough and widely enough.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Nanking is known in China and Japan — and relatively little known in the rest of the world. The Herero genocide was acknowledged by Germany after one hundred seventeen years. The Bengal Famine of 1943 is virtually absent in British narratives of World War II. Indonesia 1965-1966 is a blank spot in most Western textbooks. The Paraguayan War is hardly known outside South America.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is not a random omission. It is a result of whose suffering is considered important enough to remember — and whose is not. And this result is produced not only by historians, but also by political decisions about what to include in the narratives that shape collective identity.</p><h2 class="ql-align-justify">Wars that were not in textbooks</h2> <p class="ql-align-justify">There are wars and mass killings that have not made it into the standard narrative — not because they were less horrific, but because the victims did not fit into categories that global memory deems significant enough. To tell about them is not only to restore historical justice. It means to expand the understanding of what war is as a phenomenon.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Durrani War against the Sikhs in the eighteenth century in Punjab included an episode known as the Vada Ghallughara — “The Great Massacre” — in February 1762. The Afghan ruler Ahmad Shah Durrani attacked a column of Sikhs — men, women, children, the elderly — moving through Punjab. In one day, estimates suggest that between twenty to thirty thousand people were killed. This is one of the most significant events in Sikh history — and virtually unknown outside the Sikh community.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Mfecane War in Southern Africa from 1815 to 1840 is one of the largest and least known conflicts of the nineteenth century. Mfecane — a word in the Zulu language meaning “crushing” — describes a period of large-scale wars and migrations of peoples in Southern Africa, triggered by the military reforms of Zulu King Shaka. Estimates of the death toll range from one to two million people. Entire nations were destroyed or scattered. Vast territories lay desolate. This radically changed the demographic map of Southern Africa to such an extent that later colonizers found “empty” lands — which were empty precisely because the former inhabitants had been killed or displaced.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The Taiping Wars in China from 1850 to 1864 claimed, by various estimates, between twenty and thirty million lives — making them one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history. By comparison: World War I claimed around twenty million lives. The Taiping Rebellion began as a religious movement — its leader Hong Xiuquan believed that he was the younger brother of Jesus Christ — and grew into a massive civil war that engulfed a significant part of central China. Western readers know almost nothing about this conflict — not because it was less significant, but because it does not fit into the Eurocentric narrative of great wars.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Madagascar War with France from 1947 to 1948 is an example of colonial extermination that is not even talked about in France itself. In March 1947, a rebellion against French colonial rule began in Madagascar. The French army suppressed it with exceptional brutality: villages were burned, residents were shot, and suspects were thrown alive from airplanes. Estimates suggest that between eighty and one hundred thousand people died — with the island's population around four million. France officially acknowledged the fact of mass violence only in 2005 — but the "recognition" was not accompanied by any apologies or compensations.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Bengal Famine of 1770 — one hundred seventy-three years before the famine of 1943 — claimed between seven and ten million lives. This occurred shortly after the British East India Company's control over Bengal was established. The company continued to collect taxes during the famine — and increased tax collection quotas to compensate for the decrease in the number of taxpayers. This is one of the earliest documented examples of how corporate logic results in mass extermination of people.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The War in the Philippines of 1899-1902 — the Philippine-American War, which followed the Spanish-American War — claimed between two hundred thousand and six hundred thousand lives, the majority of whom were civilians. The American army employed the tactic of "concentration zones" — rounding up the population into guarded camps and declaring all remaining populations outside the camps as "hostile." Villages were burned. Crops were destroyed. Water supplies were poisoned. General Jacob Smith, who commanded the operation on the island of Samar, gave the order that became famous: "I want you to kill and burn. The more you kill and burn, the more pleased I will be." When asked about the age below which to spare, he replied: "Ten years."</p><p class="ql-align-justify">Smith was committed to a military tribunal — and was given a reprimand. He then retired with full pay.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The war on the island of Tasmania, which I have already mentioned in connection with the extermination of people, has a specific face that is rarely named: George Arthur, the governor of Tasmania from 1824 to 1836. He organized a systematic hunt for the indigenous population, introduced a payment scheme for the capture or killing of Aborigines — effectively hunting bounties. At the same time, Arthur personally considered himself a humanist and a Christian. In his letters, he expressed regret about the "necessity" of what was happening. This is a classic example of how good intentions and brutal actions can coexist in one person — when the value system is organized in such a way that places one group of people below another.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The War of the Triple Alliance against Paraguay, which I mentioned in the first fragment, has one aspect that is rarely discussed: the role of British capital. Paraguay in the 1860s was one of the few states in Latin America that did not have external debt to British banks. The country had state ownership of railroads, a developed industry, and a high literacy rate. After the war, Paraguay immediately received large loans from British banks—secured by land and resources. This is not evidence that the war was organized by British capital—but it is a coincidence that historians of Latin American economic history find significant enough to discuss.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Cherokee people's war against forced relocation in 1838-1839 is known as the "Trail of Tears." About seventeen thousand Cherokees were forcibly removed from their ancestral lands in Georgia, Alabama, and Tennessee and marched to Oklahoma. About four thousand died on the way from disease, cold, hunger, and the brutality of the guards. This occurred under the personal order of President Andrew Jackson—despite a decision by the U.S. Supreme Court declaring the relocation unlawful. Jackson rejected the court's decision. "John Marshall has made his decision—now let him enforce it," he said, referring to the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is one of the few instances in American history where a president openly ignored a Supreme Court decision—and was known not as a violator of the constitution but as a "folk hero." Jackson has been depicted on the twenty-dollar bill in the U.S. since 1928. Only in 2020 were plans announced to replace his image with a portrait of Harriet Tubman—a former slave and abolitionist.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">The war of the Aztec Empire against the subjugated peoples is an example of the fact that destruction is not a monopoly of Europeans or the "West." The Aztec system of human sacrifice required a constant influx of captives — that is why the "flower wars" were waged regularly, with the sole goal of capturing prisoners for ritual killing. Researchers disagree on the scale — some estimates claim twenty thousand victims a year, while others consider this figure greatly exaggerated. But the mechanism itself is documented: a state system in which war was not a means to achieve political goals, but an end in itself to maintain the theological system.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is important for understanding war as a phenomenon: it is not exclusively a European or Western phenomenon. It is a universal human phenomenon — produced by different cultures in different circumstances for different reasons. The romanticization of non-Western traditions as originally peaceful is as much a mythology as their demonization.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">The Mongol war in the thirteenth century is perhaps the most massive example of organized destruction in the pre-industrial era. The Mongol conquests claimed, by various estimates, thirty to forty million lives — which accounted for about ten percent of the world population at that time. Central Asia, Persia, Iraq, Northern China were devastated to such an extent that their populations took generations to recover. Baghdad — then one of the largest and most culturally rich cities in the world — was destroyed in 1258 in such a way that it never fully regained its former significance.</p> <p class="ql-align-justify">But even the Mongolian conquests had their internal logic: it was not meaningless destruction, but a system of governance through fear, producing real political stability over vast territories — Pax Mongolica, the Mongolian world, which made trade routes from China to Europe possible and allowed Marco Polo to make his journey.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is yet another uncomfortable fact about war: even the most destructive of them are rarely pure destruction. They always produce something — new orders, new connections, new opportunities for some at the expense of others' annihilation. This is what makes them such a persistent phenomenon: war is not merely a pathology, but a mechanism of social change — albeit the most destructive of all known ones.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">To understand this is not to accept it. It means to see war as it is: not an anomaly of human history, but one of its most constant and costly mechanisms.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">And that is why any serious anti-war position should start not with moral condemnation — although that is necessary — but with understanding the mechanism. Condemnation does not change the system. Understanding the mechanism creates the possibility to change it.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">War does not choose. It takes everyone indiscriminately — regardless of whose side you are on, what color your skin is, where your village is in the world, what language you speak, and which god you pray to.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">This is its only true universality.</p><p class="ql-align-justify">© lesnoy, 30.09.2026</p><p class="ql-align-justify">translation © lesnoy</p><p>© lesnoy, LifeArmy.org</p><p>Original: <a href="https://lifearmy.org/articles/war-does-not-choose">https://lifearmy.org/articles/war-does-not-choose</a></p>

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