After School Siege, Russians' Grief Turns to Anger

Raya Tsolmayova lost four children and two nieces in the siege. "We never had a quiet home like now," she says. (Peter Baker -- The Washington Post)

BESLAN, Russia -- The people of Beslan buried two more children on Friday, a 7-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl. They still dig graves at the cemetery nearly every day. The weekend before there were yet another 23 funerals.

Three of those laid to rest that weekend were children of Taimuraz Totiyev and Raya Tsolmayova. They had already buried another child, as well as a niece. Yet another niece's body is still missing. Of the eight children who left the Totiyev brothers' adjoining homes on Sept. 1, only two came back alive.

More than five weeks after hundreds perished in the seizure of School No. 1 by Chechen separatists, Beslan remains a town reeling from grief, shock, rage and disbelief, a town whose suffering seems only compounded by the day. Dozens of burned bodies remain unidentified. Many believe the government is covering up the real death toll. Millions of dollars in donations have not reached the victims. And as the traditional Orthodox Christian mourning period ends this week, there are renewed fears of violent reprisals fueled by ethnic animosity.

Many here in North Ossetia harbor a seething hatred for Ingush in the neighboring republic. The Ingush, who are predominantly Muslim, and the Ossetians, most of whom are Christians, have a history of ethnic rivalry that culminated in a brief but bloody territorial war in 1992.

When the 40-day mourning period ends Wednesday, some Ossetians may lash out at the Ingush. "We are very concerned that there be peace, no revenge," said Marina Tuayeva, 41, a volunteer helping school victims. Sergei Tsomartov, 27, another Beslan resident, added, "The older people are trying to convince the younger ones to have peace."

"People are all filled with anger because the tragedy touched practically everyone," said Totiyev, sitting at the table where his children used to celebrate birthdays. "People today are angry . . . some with the government. The majority of the terrorists were Ingush so people are angry with Ingush and many want to take revenge. What is going to happen?"

Hundreds, even thousands, of people wander solemnly through the burned-out, pockmarked school building each day, leaving flowers and lighting candles. Many traumatized children refuse to go to other schools. Local television ends its evening newscast with names of missing people whose families are still seeking information about them.

Prosecutors on Friday began criminal proceedings against three police officers in Ingushetia accused of criminal negligence connected to the case. Amid conflicting official accounts, conspiracy theories have multiplied. In the latest quest for scapegoats, many residents have turned on the school director, covering the school with graffiti painting her as complicit, although there is no evidence she was.

"Everybody's still shocked," said Elza Baskayeva, editor of the local newspaper, whose daughter was among the hostages who survived. "It's so hard. I wake up in the morning with these thoughts in my mind that go back to those days. It doesn't let me go."

The town is eerily silent. "At nine in the morning," Baskayeva said, "you walk to work and there are no cars, no people. It's scary. In the morning, you don't hear the roosters anymore. Even the dogs have stopped barking."

For some, early stoicism has given way to inconsolable anguish. "At first the heart turned to stone and wouldn't let the pain in," said Murat Dzheliyev, 27, who lost family friends. "But as the days went by, it started to hurt even more. The pain really took over. It hurts whenever you look at children."

No one knows for sure why the guerrillas targeted School No. 1. As the fall term opened on Sept. 1, 32 gunmen raced into the courtyard, took at least 1,200 hostages and rigged the gymnasium with bombs. For 52 hours, they held Russian forces at bay, demanding an end to the war in the nearby separatist region of Chechnya.

At midday on Sept. 3, an explosion ripped through the gym, followed by another, sparking pandemonium. As children began leaping out the windows to escape, the guerrillas shot some of them in the back. By most accounts, Russian troops initially held back, hoping to prevent an all-out battle, but local men armed with their own guns had penetrated the perimeter and began firing back, setting off a daylong battle in which hundreds were killed.

Exactly how many died has become a point of controversy. Although the government sticks to an official death toll of 331, there are indications it may have been much higher.